


Unforeseen Circumstances

by abovetheserpentine



Series: The Chaos Theory [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death In Dream, Death Threats, Drama, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s plagued with dreams about Cedric Diggory. Except they’re not ordinary dreams… Hermione sees him die. As she tries to hide the truth, Hermione’s relationship with Cedric grows, and her dreams become worse. But what can she do to save him?</p><p>Written on ff.net from 2008-2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this YEARS ago - and I mean Y E A R S. I'm posting on here because I might actually continue with the sequel I abandoned? Wow, I'm awfully good at that, haha. WOOPS. My apologies. 
> 
> Excuse any spelling mistakes etc - I copied straight from ff.net and I'm lazy and so can't be bothered fixing errors.

**PREFACE**

No one understood their relationship, and she didn't expect them to. How could they? She was the bookworm Gryffindor, and he was the popular Hufflepuff. Everyone had expected them to stay well away from each other, and they had kept to these expectations for a while, until unforeseen circumstances had brought them together.

Looking back on it now, Hermione realised that she'd never really been  _happy_. She was always alone. Being a girl with two male best friends got the best of her sometimes. It didn't help that their interests were completely off par. Quidditch was something she could watch quite comfortably, but if anyone thought they could force her onto a broomstick, they were sorely mistaken.

At the time, she would have given anything to be well-liked. Like him. Hell, she would've given anything to get out of her nerdy reputation. She guessed that's what drew her to him in the first place. Hermione didn't even like to study; she liked to be knowledgeable. In fact, she couldn't let something go if she didn't know everything there was to about it. Hermione always liked to have the upper hand, and he seemed to understand, and even  _appreciate_  that about her. It felt like no one else did.

So what was she doing here, n _ow?_  Saving him? It wasn't even determined that anything bad would happen, and yet, she felt her legs propel her forward. Unlike her normal self, Hermione didn't feel her pace slowing, or her chest aching. Instead, she felt like her veins were on fire. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she brushed against dense vegetation, scraping her arms on wry twigs, and feeling the sting but not acknowledging it. Every inch of her being longed to see him; her need was overwhelming and at that moment,  _she knew_. Hermione knew she had to save him, whether she came out alive or not.

**\---**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Sometimes, Hermione really didn't like being a girl; even more so when her two best friends treated her like they did now. The nerve of them to even think of making her their messenger! The muggle saying, 'don't shoot the messenger' came to her mind, and at that moment, she wished the opposite.

"This is ridiculous. I'll never get anything done while I'm this frustrated." Hermione huffed to herself, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She slammed her book shut, and rested her head upon it, sighing as she closed her eyes. Staying there a few moments, she finally calmed herself as she sat upright. Opening her eyes, she breathed deeply. Muttering to herself about the pettiness of the male species, Hermione opened her book and began to continue searching for the information needed for her two-foot Potions essay. Normally she wasn't a violent person, but Hermione really wanted to hurt Snape, badly, for giving them an essay even  _she_  couldn't do on a Monday.

In the end, Hermione did one thing she swore she would never do at school: give up. Hermione just didn't care anymore. With all her other school work, unfinished, Harry and Ron's petulant fight, unresolved, Harry's entry in the Triwizard Tournament, unexplained, and Cedric Diggory's lingering presence in her mind, unhelpful, her focus was waning. It seemed she had reached her breaking point.

"Need any help?"

Speak of the devil.

Her thoughts of Cedric came to the forefront of her mind as she snapped her head in the direction of the intruder. Stormy grey eyes met golden brown as Hermione gazed at Cedric. She quickly broke eye contact, afraid that he would see what she knew. It was incredibly important that no one find out, or Hermione would be classified as mentally insane, and shipped off to a muggle mental hospital in the middle of no where.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." Hermione's parents had always taught her manners first and foremost, regardless of her feelings toward a person. However, as she spoke, she heard an edge of nervousness in her voice. Cedric was an observant person, she had noticed, and he hadn't missed it either.

His eyes squinted slightly as he tilted his head to the side.

"Is something… bothering you, Granger?" he said, taking a step forward.

Worried, Hermione hastily started packing away her books, careful not to let anything slip. Cedric, seeing her actions, began to hand her the books on the other side of the study table. As he lifted _So You're Having Dreams That Worry You?_  by Melissa Molina, a piece of parchment caught his eye. Hermione, seeing his gaze, paled dramatically, hoping to Merlin that it wasn't that  _particular_ parchment.

"Granger…" Hermione winced at his confused tone, waiting for the inevitable, "why is there a piece of parchment with my name on it?"

Cedric lifted the parchment curiously, reading further. Hermione knew if she didn't stop him now, he would read the whole thing and find out her secret. In a moment of desperation, she snatched the parchment out of his hands and stuffed it in her bag, piling her books on top of it. Cedric raised an eyebrow at her aggressiveness, waiting for her to speak. Hermione did not give him that pleasure.

"Well?" he prompted, straightening his posture as she stood, pulling her bag onto her shoulder.

She stared at him expectantly.

"What? It doesn't mean anything." Hermione said, trying to seem nonchalant. She brushed past him toward the exit to the library, intent on getting back to her dorms and deciphering her dreams there.  _Maybe if I put some silencing charms up, the other girls wouldn't disturb me for once…_  her thoughts were interrupted once more by Cedric.

"If it involves me, I think I have a right to know." His eyes bored into her as he came into stride next to her. Trying to get rid of him, Hermione quickened her pace. It was a futile attempt, as he was roughly half a foot taller than her, at just past six feet. She rolled her eyes at his persistence. He continued to pester her as walkers-by stared open-mouthed, until she reached the portrait hole to Gryffindor tower, thankfully in record time. As they came to stand in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione spun around to face Cedric.

"It's just something for the tournament, that's all. Not important at all, so you shouldn't be so concerned." She paused, "Since when do you talk to me, anyway?" He was silent for a moment and she went to turn away, when his hand grabbed her forearm. Hermione whipped back around, hair flying in her face.

"Since you decided to go around writing things about me." Cedric replied, tilting his head in interest at her nervous but irritated expression. They stared at each other in silence until Cedric released the hold on her arm and shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry... I'm just a bit stressed. It seems everyone wants a piece of me these days." He smiled crookedly. "Literally," he continued, "girls are trying to bite me!" he exclaimed, chuckling to himself. Hermione relaxed her tensed muscles, the nervousness draining out of her at his usual carefree attitude. Cedric had an odd way of making her forget everything else.  _Stop it,_  Hermione berated herself,  _you're only making it worse._

Cedric cleared his throat. Hermione did not feel awkward in the slightest. "I guess I'll see you around, Cedric." She gave him a small smile.

"Goodbye, Granger." He nodded at her in farewell and strode off down the corridor towards the kitchens, where she knew the Hufflepuff common room was.

Before he disappeared completely down the corridor, Hermione turned around to face the Fat Lady, who had been watching the whole exchange. Hermione blushed faintly, muttering the password. The Fat Lady paused before granting her entry to the common room.

"He's a keeper, girl. Don't let that one go." She stared dreamily at his retreating form, just as it turned the corner. Hermione snorted loudly, and the portrait swung open.

As she entered the common room, Hermione was bombarded by Harry, who had obviously been waiting for her... or waiting to hound her, more like. She had forgotten she'd missed lunch.

"Where have you been? I need to practise the summoning charm! You  _know_  I haven't nailed it yet-" Hermione interrupted him before he could badger her further.

"Yes, Harry, I know, alright? I just... got held up at the library. Snape's essay was hopeless. I didn't get anything done. I'll help you with the charm in a minute; I have to go up to my dorm first." They were all half-truths, but she figured that she'd never be able to straight forward lie to Harry: he'd see right through her.

Harry seemed shocked at her outburst, but gathered himself just as she ascended the stairs. Hermione sighed heavily as she opened the door to the fourth year dorms, walking to her bed on the left side, and dropping her book bag onto it. The  _Accio_  charm could wait, her dreams could not.

Plopping herself onto her bed after removing her outer robe, Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out her various books, only one of them meant to help with Snape's essay. She pushed it off the bed in disgust. Pulling the closest book toward her, she slowly opened  _You're Scared Your Nightmares Will Become Real_  by Robert Bigglescott. There wasn't much that helped her, but a couple of sentences caught her eye.

_There are many different types of seers. There are both good and sinister seer abilities. Some seer types are very rare. An example of this is the Death Seer, easily identifiable, and an ability considered evil, but which only occurs once every two hundred years._

The vagueness of the passage frustrated her. After looking through the other books she had found in the library, including _So You're Having Dreams That Worry You?_  by Melissa Molina, that was the only reference to anything similar to her dreams. But Hermione couldn't be a Seer. She didn't believe in that sort of thing, anyway, so it was a moot point. Weren't seers meant to forget their predictions? She remembered hers... if they even  _were_ predictions. There had to be something else to explain her morbid dreams… morbid dreams involving Cedric.

Maybe it was just her. Just because they were rather dark dreams didn't mean they were bad, or that she was a Death Seer.  _I don't remember them that clearly anyway, and the book said they were easy to identify._ Hermione thought to herself.  _No, the whole thing's ridiculous. There must be another_ logical _explanation._

"Another dead end." Hermione sighed, closing all the books around her and putting them back into her bag.

"A dead end to what?" a voice came from the door. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin as she snapped her head to the door. She sighed in relief at who she saw.

"Parvati! You nearly scared me to death!" Hermione exclaimed. Parvati waited for an answer. "Oh! It's just some extracurricular research I'm working on for Professor McGonagall. Nothing you'd be very interested in." Hermione laughed lightly, trying to subtly cover up the summaries of her dreams as Parvati walked over to her bed. She finished shoving all the papers in her bag when Parvati spoke again.

"The Fat Lady was going on about you having a boyfriend. Who is it, Hermione? Is he good-looking? Ooh, is it Ron Weasley?" Parvati said excitedly.

"What?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Your boyfriend; who is he?" Parvati prodded impatiently.

"What are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend!" shrieked Hermione, embarrassed that the Fat Lady had assumed her and Cedric were together, but flattered that she had seen her as good enough for him.  _You're distracting yourself, again._  A voice piped up in her head. Hermione tuned back into the present.

"-if the Fat Lady saw it, I'm sure it was true. It's about time, Hermione! You really need to get out, let loose, have some fun! Oh, can Lavendar and I do your make-up for dates? We can have a girl's night sometime this week, it'll be great. Then you have to dish out the details. Have you kissed yet? What-"

"Excuse me!" Hermione interrupted. Everyone was getting on her last nerve today, and it seemed they were all shocked at her for doing something about their annoying behaviour, as Parvati's eyes widened. "I do not have a boyfriend, Parvati. The Fat Lady saw Cedric Diggory follow me, that's all. And I don't need to 'let loose'!"

"Cedric Diggory? Cedric  _Diggory_? He's your boyfriend?" Parvati squealed comically. "Nice catch, Hermione!"

"What? No!" protested Hermione, but her roommate wasn't listening.

"How did you meet? Who asked who? Why have you kept this secret? Oh, this is juicy, Hermione! Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Parvati insisted, looking a little hurt.

"Because it's not even true! All he did was ask me a question, and when I couldn't answer, he pestered me until I did;  _that's it_. Nothing more, nothing less." Her tone suggested finality, but it seemed Parvati would not give up.

"That's so awesome! I wish he'd speak to me. With his dreamy smile and great big blue eyes… you're so lucky, Hermione." She sighed dramatically. Hermione didn't bother to correct her saying that his eyes were in fact a dark grey, and smoldered when he was passionate about something, or lightened when he was amused, and that he had the most adorable squint when he smiled-  _You're sounding exactly like them,_  that voice spoke up again,  _get a grip, Hermione!_

 _It's just the dreams,_  she replied to the voice, _they're making me think of him, plaguing my thoughts. It's only natural for me to be attracted to him, too. I mean, he_ is _good-looking._

 _Stop right there,_  the voice said again,  _don't even think about it._

Hermione gulped nervously. She hadn't even realised Parvati had kept talking, telling her about all the possible ways Hermione could introduce her.

"Yes, yes, I'll try and mention you. He probably won't even talk to me again." She stood up and walked to the door, leaving a bubbling Parvati behind her. Hermione groaned at what she had to do next; Harry would have her head for making him wait.

 

\---

 

As the week progressed, Hermione found herself immersed in her studies. She had found avoiding Cedric, Parvati, Harry and Ron very tiring. In fact, Hermione was pretty much avoiding everyone.

Her grades were suffering, even though she put all her effort into it. It seemed her attempts were fruitless. She had to get to the bottom of her dream situation before anything else. Not to mention squashing those rumors of her and Cedric  _together_. Hermione had got the feeling he was trying to confront her about it, and remained inconspicuous for the majority of the time.

It also seemed her inner turmoil was no longer private; Professor McGonagall was catching on.

"Miss Granger, stay please." She said after the last class on Friday afternoon. Harry looked at Hermione worriedly, but she just waved him off, and calmly walked over to McGonagall's desk where she was seated.

"I'm afraid that your standard this past week hasn't been the usual." the Transfiguration professor waited for an explanation. When she received none, she continued.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Miss Granger?" she tried to catch Hermione's eye, but she was looking away to the bookcase on her right. She was silent.

"Very well, but should the desire ever arise, you are more than welcome to talk to me, Hermione. Just don't let whatever this is affect your school work again. I don't want to see my best student slip to a mere second." Hermione looked to her, and Professor McGonagall smiled. "You are excused, Miss Granger."

 _I should've said something, now she's bound to be suspicious,_ she thought as she left the classroom. Her thoughts were interrupted as she walked into someone. She nearly fell over, but a pair of large warm hands steadied her as they latched onto her arms. Her eyes were level with a broad chest, so Hermione tilted her head so she could see who she had bumped into.

_Oh, for Merlin's sake._

"Granger."

Hermione winced.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you." He paused, "What's this talk of you being my girlfriend?" She noticed that his hands remained in place. She relished in the feeling.

"I- uhh… well, the thing is… the Fat Lady- she, that is to say, kind of thought we were…  _together_ … the other night." Hermione's stuttering ceased, and she saw Cedric open his mouth to argue, "Don't even ask why! I have no idea how she could've thought  _you_  would go out with  _me_." Her tone was slightly bitter.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cedric asked, slightly angered at her tone.

"Well, you're the popular Hufflepuff Triwizard Champion. I'm muggle-born bookworm Hermione Granger. Apparently those two things don't mix." Hermione replied, looking away.

Cedric looked down at her for a moment, seeing a girl that did not look or seem two years younger than him. No matter how hard he tried, Cedric could not figure Hermione out. He would keep trying, though. Cedric liked a challenge.

He suddenly removed his hands, as if noticing their placement for the first time. He did not take a step back.

"Who says so, Granger? I don't."

She looked up at him for a moment. "Neither do I." Hermione replied quietly. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Hermione realised where she was and stepped away.

"I keep telling people it's not true, but… they won't listen to me." She gathered up her book bag, which had fallen to the floor during her stumble.

Cedric sighed. "They'll get over it eventually."

Hermione looked away, and Cedric could see the tell-tale signs of a good sob coming on. He placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"Hey, don't cry." He said softly. Seeing someone like Hermione Granger cry was big; such a strong person didn't do it very often.

She threw her arms around his waist and pushed her face into his chest. He staggered a little, but regained his footing and wrapped his arms around her small frame.  _A perfect fit._

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, bringing her hand up to wipe away her tears, although more followed. "Everything's just so overwhelming. School, friends, nightmares, and now this." Hermione sniffled again. "It's like it's never going to end." She croaked.

Cedric was silent for a minute before he said anything.

"I know exactly what you mean."

He tightened his arms around her.


	2. Cheer For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any tags you think I should include as you read further into the story, please let me know! I just tagged what I could remember.

"Why do you have to be like this, Hermione? C'mon! It's not that hard. Honestly." Hermione turned her head to look at Harry, who had just spoken to her in a way that she would not – could not – put up with on this particular Saturday.

"Be like what, Harry? I am sick of being the link between you and Ronald! Just get over this stupid argument and be friends again. Merlin knows who hasn't already tired of both of your silly games." she said, beginning to pack up the books from her previously uninterrupted homework session in the library. It had become her sanctuary over the past few days. Hermione had grown sick of everyone around her, not to mention that her dreams were becoming more vivid and therefore she was currently running on four hours sleep. Irritable would be an understatement.

She stood up, pulling her bag strap onto her shoulder as she did so. Hermione walked out of the library at a fairly fast pace, trying to ditch Harry. Unfortunately, his long strides caught up with her. _Why do I have to be so_ short _?_  she thought.

"Look Harry, what I think is that this has gone on long enough. You can't rely on me to fix this. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not even involv-" she was cut off as she ran head-first into a large column.

At least, she thought it was a column.

"Why must we always meet like this, Granger?" a voice came from above her. Shaking her head to try and rid it of the dizziness, her vision was blurry at first. Hermione blinked a few times until her sight came into focus. She nearly growled at who she saw.

"Cedric." She snapped. She could see his attempts to hide his smirk, but they were pointless – it broke out on his face anyway.

"Diggory." Harry replied curtly from his place beside her. Cedric was a couple of inches taller than him, and so Harry had to tilt his head slightly upwards. Hermione thought this looked rather funny given Harry's piercing glare. When he looked at him, Cedric did not seem at all affected by it. Cedric averted his gaze back to Hermione.

"Is he your boyfriend?" he said, pointing at Harry. Harry's glare turned confused.

"No." Hermione said very slowly, "Why?"

"No reason." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and avoided her eyes. Hermione huffed.

"Let's go, Harry. We'll leave Cedric to his study." She tugged on Harry's robe, urging him to move.

"Don't forget that the task is nearly a week away, Potter." Cedric said over his shoulder as he walked away. Harry was left spluttering.

"Who is he to talk t- it's because of Quidditch, isn't it? Well, we'll see." he scoffed. "As if I need reminding. I've got a lot on my mind as it is- hey Hermione, why did he mention that you'd met before?"

She hadn't listened in on Harry's rant and didn't know what he'd asked… but Hermione could guess.

"Sorry?" she asked, starting to walk again. Harry shuffled after her.

"Diggory; why did he say you'd met before?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Hermione hesitated for the smallest moment, and hoped that Harry hadn't noticed.

"We all met Cedric at the Quidditch World Cup, remember Harry?" she gave him her best 'I've done nothing wrong' face.

"Yeah, but-"

"That's what he was talking about." Hermione interrupted. "Anyway, Cedric was right; we really need to get to work on that Summoning Charm if you want to survive the first task."

"I'll be fine." Harry snapped.

"Harry, you've barely got it. One badly cast spell and you could-"

"I never asked for your help, Hermione, and I don't want it!" he exclaimed, and stalked off ahead of her in the direction of the kitchens, leaving Hermione stunned in the middle of the corridor. She stared at his retreating figure.

"Men." Hermione sighed, and continued on her way to Gryffindor tower.

 

\---

 

The nerve of that woman. Oh, how Hermione wanted to  _Avada_  her back to wherever the hell she came from! How could she write such…  _trash_?

_Hermione Granger, age fifteen, is the newest fling of Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. It has been said that Granger is a skilled witch, and people speculate whether Potter's adoration for her was formed through the use of a love potion. No one can be sure._

" _She's not even that pretty," says a classmate of both teenagers, "I mean, she's a know-it-all, she doesn't have any friends."_

 _Eugh,_  she thought,  _I've read enough._  Ripping up the  _Daily Prophet_ , she threw it into the common room fire where it crackled and popped until it was nothing but ashes.

It had been almost a week since that article was posted and people were still badgering her about it; Harry this, Harry that. Hermione felt like she'd contracted some of Ron's jealousy considering her feelings toward Harry at the present time, but quickly brushed it off – she would  _never_  want to be Harry Potter, she was sure.

Speaking of Ron, he climbed through the portrait hole at that exact moment. His eyes darted around the room, searching for someone.  _Probably me,_  Hermione thought,  _I feel another whine coming on._

He glided toward her with determination written all over his face.

"Not now, Ronald, I don't have time." Hermione said, sighing as she scribbled down the answer to a comprehension question in her Charms homework.

"I have two things to say to you. One; Diggory is looking for you, and two; did you tell Harry about the dragons?"

Hermione froze in her seat. Cedric was looking for her?  _Oh no, he's caught on._  Ron stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.  _He's probably accused me of stalking, now. Goodbye Hogwarts, goodbye Ron and Harry, goodbye Snape…_

"Err- what was that last thing?" Hermione cringed. It was so unlike her to tune out all the time. She really needed to step up her secrecy skills if she was going to continue on like this for the rest of the year.  _Oh wait,_  she thought,  _I'm not going to even be here for the rest of the year. Hermione muggle-born Granger: expelled._

"I  _said_ ," Ron rolled his eyes, "Did you tell Harry about going to see Hagrid?"

Hermione blinked. "No."

"Good. I'm just making sure." He looked somewhat relieved. Hermione didn't bother to argue with him on this one. "Are you going to Hogsmeade with Harry on Saturday?" Ron asked, spitting out Harry's name like it was the foulest curse.

"I presume so." She answered, cringing as she saw the outraged look on Ron's face.

"Hermione! You're meant to be on my side, remember? Can't you see that he likes all this attention? Honestly, one would think you're his girlfriend or something given your obvious favouritism!" Ron exclaimed, his face contorted into a snarl.

She stared at him.

"Excuse me? For one, both of you are my friends and I am therefore loyal to you and Harry." Hermione said indignantly. "And furthermore; I am not his girlfriend." She said through her teeth, pronouncing each word slowly enough for Ron to understand.

"Sure, Hermione, whatever you say. Everyone knows." Ron said with his eyebrows raised in doubt.

"I've had enough of this.  _What is wrong with everyone_?" The last part was to herself as she left her belongings on the table next to the fireplace and went up to her dorm. Hermione couldn't wait for Saturday's Hogsmeade visit to be over.

As she climbed the stairs, Ron was left open-mouthed beside the table. He was shocked that Hermione had walked away of all things, but to leave her things, too?  _Oh well,_  he thought,  _that girl is crazy._

He quickly glanced over her scattered books and quills when something caught his eye, written in Hermione's small script. He picked it up.

 _13/11/94  
__Green flash.  
__Harry's perspective.  
_ " _Kill the spare."  
__Peter Pettigrew._

"Hmph," Ron huffed, "means nothing to me." He threw the paper back onto the table and walked away.

 

\---

 

The week passed fairly smoothly for Hermione and for that she was grateful. Her dreams were still has prominent as ever, of course, but she was left alone for the majority of the time, which made everything easier to cope with. In a way, Hermione was happy that Harry and Ron were fighting; it made explaining her continued absence from… everywhere that much less complicated. No one asked questions. So Hermione continued to spend a lot of her spare moments in the library, researching. Still nothing.

It was a relief when the weekend came and Hermione, for once, had received none or very little homework from each class. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Hermione could finally relax. However, the thought of the Hogsmeade visit on Saturday made her a nervous wreck all over again. So when Saturday rolled around, Hermione felt like she'd just jogged all the way back to platform nine and three quarters.

Dressing herself in a nice, but fairly small pair of dark jeans her mother had given her for her late birthday, a white short-sleeved top and a thick grey jumper with gloves, a scarf and a beanie, Hermione walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She thought the weather, icy and a light sprinkle of rain that looked to be getting worse, matched her mood perfectly – grumpy and the feeling that things were just about to turn bad.

Hermione sat down and grabbed a large plate of bacon, eggs and toast to make her feel better. Harry joined her as she grumbled to herself about the early hour.

"Not looking forward to Hogsmeade?" he asked her, pouring himself some orange juice.

"You have no idea." She said, shoving food into her mouth to keep her busy.

"I've decided that I'm going to wear my Invisibility Cloak today." Harry said after a minute, staring at her as she continued to stuff copious amounts of food in her mouth - elegantly, of course; Hermione Granger was always well mannered.

She swallowed, asking "Why?"

"Why do you think? Everyone just about hates me. It'll be a break from the glares and accusations. I think I deserve that." Harry answered.

"Alright, alright, you don't have to explain yourself to me, Harry, I understand." Hermione knew that Harry had been getting it tough lately, but she wondered whether he knew about her hate mail yet. There was no need to tell him.

Hermione wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from the breakfast table.

"I think we should go." She said, looking down on Harry. He nodded, and quickly finished his pancakes.

They walked out into the Entrance hall and were met with third years and up waiting for Filch to check all Hogsmeade forms. Hermione shoved Harry behind and pillar and he pulled out his Cloak, checking for any onlookers, and then proceeded to throw it around himself. Hermione could no longer see him.

"Let's go." She heard a whisper and nodded.

"Follow me, alright?" she said, and walked forward, supplying Filch with her form and walking with the other students to the carriages.

Although she felt Harry's presence beside her, Hermione felt alone as she walked through Hogsmeade. She knew she looked like who everyone thought she was: a complete and utter loner. Receiving stares and hearing whispers as she walked past, Hermione's mood did not improve.

When they happened upon the Three Broomsticks, Hermione felt Harry tug her arm gently and so she changed course to the popular pub. She entered feeling quite awkward. Looking for a seat that would leave space for Harry as well as her in the crowded room proved to be quite difficult.

"I'll just stand." She heard Harry mutter close to her ear. Hermione walked over to a half-occupied booth in the middle of the pub. The noise was astounding, and Hermione found she had to shout her thoughts to be able to hear herself.

"Would you like anything, dear?" a tall, slim and very pretty waitress asked.

"No." Hermione snapped. She felt that tug on her arm again and sighed. "Sorry, I mean yes. One Butterbeer." The waitress eyed Hermione warily, but went off to retrieve her order.

"I look like such an idiot, sitting here on my own," Hermione muttered, looking around the room at its inhabitants as she tried to find something to do. She saw Lee Jordan and Fred and George trying to terrorise a first year in a nearby corner. She pretended not to notice with a small smile on her face. Her gaze moved over a group of third year Slytherins in a booth at the back wearing _Support CEDRIC DIGGORY_  badges, and finally settled on someone who she was starting to despise.

"Cho." Hermione growled. She forgot she had company in the form of Harry. She saw the pretty Ravenclaw enter and narrowed her eyes. She knew from Harry's silence that he was looking at her.

 _That girl is trouble,_  Hermione thought.  _Everyone says her and Cedric are together. I don't like it._

 _Of course you don't,_  that irritating voice piped up once more. It seemed it was becoming a common occurrence.  _Because you like Cedric. Admit it and do something about it already!_

 _What are you talking about?_  Hermione thought, confused.  _I don't like Cedric._

 _Uh huh, sure you don't,_  the voice said again. Hermione could hear it rolling its eyes.

 _Shut up._  Came her pathetic comeback.

Hermione's eyes followed the girl as she sat at a table near the front of the pub. Her glare was broken when the waitress came with her Butterbeer.

"Here you are." Said the waitress. Hermione gave her a fake smile and pulled the pint toward her. Normally Butterbeer warmed Hermione up considerably, and not just temperature-wise. She felt happy when she sipped at the warm beverage, but today it seemed everything was different. Hermione pushed the glass away from her in annoyance; it had done nothing to help her mood. She saw it disappear suddenly from the table, and knew Harry had taken it.

Suddenly, a gush of wind ruffled Hermione's hair, and she looked over to find the source. The door to the pub had been opened, and none other than Cedric Diggory stood there, holding the heavy wood open as his friends piled into the room. His light brown, almost blonde hair was windswept and he had a Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around his neck. His face held a goofy grin, remnants of a large bout of laughter. Hermione could not take her eyes off of him.

She saw him follow his friends to a table near the back. However Cho, being near the door, spotted the tall boy and gestured him over. His friends followed.

Hermione looked on with disdain as the girl giggled at a joke Cedric had made. She ran her hands through his hair, trying to return it to a manageable state. He kissed her cheek. Hermione looked away, affected by the very public display the couple had made. She felt the need to empty her stomach.

"Harry, can we leave?" she asked, quickly glancing at their table again to see Cho grab his hand. " _Please_." She added, her voice strained. Hermione heard a sound of acknowledgement next to her and that was all it took. She jumped out of her chair and very nearly ran out of the Three Broomsticks, swiftly passing Cho's table as she flew by. Hermione brushed against the back of Cedric's cloak as she left.

She waited just outside for Harry to catch up to her, fidgeting nervously as she wanted to get away, far away from there, and  _them._

Hermione heard Harry's huff beside her and she straightaway set off walking in the direction of Honeydukes. That wasn't a 'couple place', she was certain. Wrapping her unzipped jumper more tightly around herself to keep from falling apart in front of Harry, Hermione quickened her pace and kept her gaze forward.

"Oi, Granger!"

 _Anyone,_  she thought,  _anyone but him._

Resigned to the fact she had to turn around, Hermione plastered a fake smile on her face and looked to see who had called her name. Her smile faltered slightly as she took in their appearance.

 _Just my luck._  She thought.

 _Indeed,_ the smug voice said.  _Now is the time to get to know him, arrange a meeting, go on a date…_

 _Oh, because he's not obviously already involved._  Hermione retorted. The voice was quiet and Hermione felt satisfied that it had no response.

He gave her the crooked smirk she'd only ever seen him use in her presence.

"Rosmerta told me to come and get you. You forgot to pay." He chuckled lightly at Hermione's obvious stupidity.

"Oh…" was all she could say. She felt her cheeks burn a bright red.

"So do you want to come back and pay?" he asked her, winking. Hermione's heart fluttered in her chest.

"No, no, I'll just pay you." She choked out through her embarrassment and newfound bitterness. Digging into her jean pockets, Hermione pulled out all she had, which was probably just enough for the one Butterbeer, and shoved it into his hands. He looked shocked for a moment before he counted the coins before him. Nodding his head in agreement with the sum, he looked up at her blank face.

"So why was someone like you alone?" he asked abruptly. She blinked and looked up at him as he took a step closer.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"Well, I would've thought a smart, beautiful girl like yourself would've had a date this Hogsmeade weekend." He said, grinning.

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny." Hermione said sarcastically, rolling her eyes, though her cheeks were still a faint pink. "You're just saying that." She looked away.

"No, I'm not. It's true." He said, and Hermione couldn't find it in herself to not believe him. "So are you going to answer my question?"

She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not to tell him the real reason why she was here alone… or really, with Harry under the Invisibility Cloak. She decided to tell Harry her side of the story.

"My two best friends are fighting and I'm stuck in the middle. I decided it would be best if I didn't go with either to Hogsmeade. I'm sick of being the link between the two. It's about time they grew up." Hermione said. Cedric frowned. "And no one would ever ask me on a date, anyway." She finished.

"Hey, don't say that." He said softly, stepping forward once more. His close proximity made Hermione's stomach flip. Not only did she want to snog him senseless, it was rather awkward given that she'd clung to him desperately not two weeks ago.

"It's true. Who would want me, Hermione Granger, nerd extraordinaire, short, bushy-haired and stubborn?" She took a breath to calm herself. "No one."

Cedric looked at her more closely and tilted his head in interest. He took another step closer so they were only roughly two feet apart.

"What would you say if I said  _I_  wanted you?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. All of a sudden, she could hear a strange noise; strangled and harsh, and then realised it was her. Hard, cold laughter bubbled up and out of her mouth in a unusual rhythm. Hermione clutched at her aching sides, trying to hold in her hysterics. Cedric stared at her the entire time, and she couldn't blame him. Finally she composed herself enough to speak.

"As if  _you_  would want  _me_ , Cedric." A crazed giggle escaped her closed mouth. Hermione sighed, her giddy mood vanishing as she took in his bewildered expression.

"I'll see you around." She said dejectedly, and turned to walk away so she could find somewhere secluded, maybe the Shrieking Shack, where she could cry her eyes out.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, and she halted, turning to look at him slowly. He closed the gap between them.

"Cheer for me." He whispered. She had to look back and forth between both his eyes he was so close.

"I'm sorry?" she said. Her voice sounded breathy as she took in his handsome face with vigor.

"Cheer for me on Tuesday." He said once more, searching her face for something, Hermione didn't know.

There was a pause, and then she smiled, "I was going to."

Hermione left him standing there in the middle of a busy street in Hogsmeade as she slowly walked to the Shrieking Shack – but not to cry.

 

\---

 

"What was that all about?" Harry asked, confused. He had spent all day in Hogsmeade under his Invisibility Cloak and had found his freedom short-lived. There was nothing like getting your toes trodden on five thousand to squash those feelings. Hermione and he were currently in Zonko's, and as she was looking through Hiccup Sweets and Frog-Spawn Soap, Harry decided it was time to speak up.

"All what about?" she asked quietly, seeming distracted by the price of the products she was browsing.

"With Diggory." Harry stated as if it were the obvious.

"We were just talking. We do that occasionally." Hermione answered out of the side of her mouth, and pulled a bag of the Hiccup sweets off the shelf. "I think I'll buy these to use on Ron, what do you think?" she turned to Harry, or really where he was supposed to be.

"Hmm… talking, right." Harry sarcastically replied.

Hermione looked in his direction blankly. "Yes."

They walked up to the counter and bought the sweets. The vendor seemed surprised to see Hermione being the one to buy something, as she was normally the one protesting to any kind of prank-pulling. However, they just shrugged it off and processed the purchase.

As they left the store, Harry saw Hagrid and Mad-Eye Moody leaving the Three Broomsticks. He waved to Hagrid before he realised that he couldn't be seen. Harry saw Mad-Eye glance at him and froze. He was sure he had every part of his body covered. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor muttered something to Hagrid and the giant swiveled to see Hermione pondering on where to go next. He started lumbering over.

"Hermione!" Hagrid said in his usual gruff tone as he arrived

Hermione smiled politely at him. "Hello Hagrid, Professor Moody." She nodded at both of them.

"Nice Cloak, Potter." Moody limped a bit closer as he said this. Harry stared at him in amazement. Moody grinned at his expression.

"Can your eye - I mean, can you -?" stuttered Harry.

"Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks." Moody said quietly. "And it's come in useful at times, I can tell you."

Hagrid was beaming in Harry's direction and Hermione looked a bit shocked that Moody was talking to thin air.

Hagrid looked at Hermione, but started to talk to Harry.

"Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that Cloak." Hagrid said, smiling. He winked at Hermione. "Nice ter see yeh." Both he and Moody departed.

"Why does he want me to meet him at midnight?" Harry said, very surprised.

"I don't know… I don't know whether I should tell you this, either, but Hagrid told Ron to tell you." Hermione said cautiously.

"Well why didn't he?" Harry said angrily.

"He's being resentful. Ignore him. Do you think you should go?" Hermione lowered her voice as a group of fifth year Gryffindors passed. "I mean, it might cut your time with Sirius."

Harry knew that it probably would cut into his time talking with Sirius, but something about the vagueness of Hagrid's demand made him curious.

"I'll go. Let's just hope it won't take that long."

 

\---

 

On early Monday morning, Hermione threw her covers off of her and got out of bed. Tired and sweaty, she put on a robe and went to the Hospital Wing to get something to help her sleep.

"Dear, you look worse for wear." Said Madam Pomfrey as Hermione entered. The nurse was bustling around, fixing beds and throwing out expired potions.

"Thanks." muttered Hermione sarcastically. "I'm here for a sleeping draught. I've been having dreams that keep me up at night."

Pomfrey looked at her sternly. "Now, you should know I don't normally give these out willy nilly, but I know that you are responsible, so I will give you three nights worth of the sleeping drought."

Hermione's face split into a grin. "Oh, thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey! You have no idea how much this means to me."

Madam Pomfrey passed her the vials and Hermione thanked her once more. She placed them in the pocket of her robe for safe-keeping and returned to her dorms.

Due to the little sleep Hermione received that night, she went back to bed, hoping for a quick nap before she had to get up for classes. However, what Hermione forgot was to set her alarm.

Waking up at midday, Hermione bolted up in bed when she saw her clock. Cursing, she flew around the dorms, getting dressed and packing her carry bag for the day. She was ready just in time for lunch, where she met Harry in the Great Hall, panting.

"Where were you all morning?" he demanded. Harry looked a little shocked at her flustered appearance.

"I slept in." Hermione cringed.

"Look, I have to tell you something…" Harry trailed off as he grabbed her arm and insisted they go on a walk around the grounds.

"Dragons? That's the first task? Oh Merlin." Hermione said worriedly.

"I know." Harry said, looking out over the lake.

"Well what do you plan to do?" Hermione asked, frowning at him.

"I have no idea." His reply made Hermione's nerves fire up again.

"Come on, we have to research ways to defend against dragons in the library." Hermione said, pulling on his arms.

Harry groaned, but knew that he did indeed have to research, and so let her drag him to one of his most hated places at the moment.

"I told Diggory, by the way." Harry said, "During break."

Hermione looked taken aback.

"I thought you hated him." She said.

"Not hate, just intensely dislike. He still beat us in Quidditch." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what it is with boys and Quidditch, but there is seriously  _something_  wrong." She smiled, and Harry knew she was joking.

They had nearly reached the library, when Hermione spoke again.

"I'm glad you told him," she said quietly. She turned her head to look at him, hair fairly tame today. "Because if you hadn't, I would have."


	3. Oh Merlin

Frightened is what you would call Hermione Granger at the present time. She stood outside the champions' tent, awaiting any news of Harry. She wrung her hands, impatient and nervous for what was to come. When she thought about it, she really didn't want to see Harry go through with the First Task, but then she would think about it some more, realise there was no way that was going to happen, and then wish for it to be over and done with. It was very conflicting and Hermione didn't like it at all.

"Miss Granger, what are you doing out here?" Hermione spun around to face Professor Dumbledore looking at her inquisitively.

"I- uhh, I was worried about Harry, sir." she replied, hoping that Dumbledore's liking of Harry would extend to her as well.

"Of course, of course." he said, his eyes twinkling. Hermione got the feeling that he knew something she didn't. "Do you wish to see him?" he asked.

"Yes!" Hermione answered quickly. "Yes, please, sir, I'd do anything."

Dumbledore chuckled, and Hermione was confused as to why. "Very well, you may enter the tent if you wish, Miss Granger."

Hermione stared at him as he glided away, but quickly gathered herself and almost ran into the large, cream-coloured tent. She looked around for a mop of black, messy hair. Almost at once she saw Harry leaning against one of the tent supports and ran to him. They nearly toppled over with the force of her hug.

"Harry! Oh, thank Merlin you're okay." Hermione said, squeezing him for extra measure.

"Hermione, why wouldn't I be? The task hasn't even started yet." Harry said, looking perplexed, but wrapping his arms around her anyway.

She pulled back to get a look at his face and frowned at the obvious fear temporarily etched into it. "I know, but I worry about you." Hermione said quietly. "Plus, last night didn't help much. You didn't get enough sleep and that worries me. Show me the charm again." she demanded fiercely.

Harry pointed his wand at a piece of broken glass on the grassy floor of the tent.

" _Accio_  broken glass." he said. The piece of glass flew into his hands, and for a moment Hermione had thought it had injured him. That was until he opened his hand and she saw the glistening glass, clean and rather blunt, sitting there.

"Well done, Harry. Let's just hope it's strong enough to summon your Firebolt." Hermione patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. Harry sat down on one of the few benches in the tent, holding his head in his hands tiredly.

"You're not meant to be in here." A voice with a rather thick Bulgarian accent stated. Hermione looked at Viktor Krum scrupulously. There was something about him that irked her. Whether it was his brawny figure, or hard, determined eyes, she wasn't sure. But there was something not quite right about the way he stared at her. To be honest, it scared her. So she kept her distance, close to Harry.

"Dumbledore gave me permission." Hermione said in a small voice, afraid of his unmoving gaze. "I'm in here to see Harry."

Krum bored his eyes into her for a few seconds more before turning around and going back to the corner of the tent in which he was pacing previously. He glanced back at her over his shoulder and she saw something she couldn't identify flash behind his eyes. Hermione looked away hurriedly.

"Are you here to see me, Granger?" both Hermione and Harry looked to Cedric who emerged from a sectioned off area of the champions' tent. He strode toward Hermione, quickly glancing at Harry to see him place his head back into his hands. It was obvious Harry was too exhausted to try and figure out their relationship.

Hermione scoffed, but her smile gave her away. "Of course not, Cedric." He grinned at her humour.

"Are you afraid?" she whispered to him when he stepped closer to her so their conversation could be more private. The grin faded from his boyishly handsome face.

"Terrified beyond belief." he whispered back. He closed his eyes briefly, and Hermione saw a new determination in them when his lids opened. "But I will make it through this. I'm not going to die. I'm going to win." She smiled at him hesitantly, unable to refute his comments out loud, but screaming on the inside.

 _You_ are _going to die, Cedric._  She thought.  _At least, that's what I've been seeing. But I'm trying, I really am. I'll save you soon._

He did not see her inner struggle. Instead, he saw a frown grace her features and a look of hurt flash across her face so fast he would not have seen it if not for his concentrated gaze.

"What? What is it?" he asked frantically. She shook her head, hair bouncing gracefully.

"What are you planning to do?" Hermione asked him. Cedric hesitated for a moment.

"Transfiguration's my best subject. I figured I'd transfigure something to distract… it." He winced at the thought of what was to come. "Then I go in for the egg." He nodded to himself, going over the carefully laid out plan in his head.

"Have you been practising?" she asked. "Is it strong enough to hold while you're not concentrating?" Her question was said quickly in her worry.

"Well… let's just say I could've used some help." Cedric stated, defeated.

"Why didn't you ask me? I would've helped you." Hermione demanded, horrified at the thought of Cedric's spellwork faltering for even a second. She knew she was only a fourth year, but she would have done a lot in her power to help him master the spell. Copious amounts of time in the library, private practical sessions in abandoned classrooms… it would've been the opportune time to get to know the enigmatic Cedric Diggory.

"I'll think of it next time." He gulped, his nerves showing. "Can you believe I'm first? Just my luck. I feel like I'm the only one who's just about to explode, here." He quickly glanced at the pacing Krum, stone-faced, and the cool, calm and collected Fleur who was speaking to her Headmistress, Madame Maxime.

"Trust me." Hermione looked to Harry, whose hands were shaking slightly. "You're not the only one. Harry's last, and knowing him, it's killing him." She sighed. "I feel so bad for him; he doesn't want this."

"I get that feeling now that we're just about to begin. I can't imagine a fourteen year old ever wanting this." Cedric turned his eyes from Harry back onto Hermione. "Hell, sometimes I question whether even  _I_  want this. Eternal glory?" He scoffed lightly. "I don't want what Potter has."

"Then why did you enter?" Hermione inquired, confused as to his motives.

"I wanted to prove myself, my house. Hufflepuff is constantly left out of the loop; no one notable has come from our house, and we're always considered 'duds'. This tournament was a chance to prove to everyone we're the complete opposite." Cedric said proudly.

"But why the need to prove yourself? It's not like nobody likes you; you're one of the most popular boys in school. You're good at Quidditch, and girls are all over you. What more recognition can you ask for?" Hermione said, amazed that Cedric, who had almost everything, could want anything more.

"None of those things mean anything to me." Cedric said fiercely. "Well, apart from the Quidditch part." He grinned then, showing his straight teeth. "They're all superficial. At least you're known for something commendable. Being smart is a good thing, in my opinion."

Hermione hummed in amusement. "You don't seem to realise that people think I am more than just 'smart', though. I'm labelled a bookworm. Surely you've heard that before? I would give a lot to be seen like you. You don't hear what people say to me. They all think that I'm only interested in books and learning; I can't have fun, too." Her face twisted in discomfort.

"Now that I  _don't_  believe," Cedric said, leaning his face closer. "Dare I say it, but I have fun in your presence. In fact, I find you very entertaining." He gave her his famous crooked smirk, and she blushed faintly.

"I'm glad you find me so amusing." Hermione said.

"You're a hard egg to crack, Granger." He said, looking at her pointedly. "But I'll figure you out eventually, even if it takes me all year." Hermione's head buzzed at the thought of Cedric talking to her for the rest of the year. She felt like she'd just had an out-of-body experience at his words and shook her head slightly to get rid of the temporary high.

"Champions!" called Ludo Bagman cheerfully. as he entered the tent. "The time has come!" Cedric and Hermione looked at each other.

"Prepare yourselves. The First Task is just about to start." He glanced at Hermione, but looked over her quickly and decided not to say anything, leaving the tent with a hop in his step. Hermione looked back to Cedric.

"Good luck, Cedric." He smiled at her in thanks. She turned around and walked towards Harry, who was muttering the spell and wand movement over and over to himself. She hugged him tightly. "I'll be watching out for you." She whispered. They broke apart and she smiled half-heartedly at him. He showed no response, his face a blank mask.

Hermione walked out of the tent into the abnormally bright sunlight. The heat of the sun warmed her skin, but she still felt goosebumps all over her arms. Shivering slightly, she made her way to the spectators' stands and located Ron, who was standing by himself looking sullen. The corners of her mouth were pulled down into a frown, but her forehead stayed wrinkle-free as she saw a large, silvery-blue dragon situated inside the arena. Her fear doubled when she saw the slight brilliant blue flames being omitted from its nostrils, which were flaring in anger. The long, spiked spine of the dragon moved up and down as it breathed in the air around it. Hermione could see the muscles in its legs clench and unclench as it stood still, ready to attack at any given moment. She knew that at the sight of Cedric, the wild beast would come to life with sadistic enthusiasm.

To make Cedric and Harry, and even Fleur and Krum do this was just plain cruel. Hermione leaned over the banister in front of her, listening and watching for any signs of Cedric as the crowd grew silent. Ron looked a little ill next to her, but leaned closer as well.

Suddenly, without warning, the creature came to life; hot blue embers erupted from its mouth and a deafening roar filled the air. The audience broke into shouts, screams and gasps, and Hermione was one of them. She and the rest of the crowd shot back as the Swedish Short-Snout reared its wings at a figure hiding behind a large rock. Hermione hoped Cedric would move soon as she could see what he could not: the large animal was shuffling forward on its short feet, angling its head for another bout of fire.

Hermione heard a shout distinctly Cedric and she watched in fear as a small, but very loud black dog (a miniature version of Sirius, it looked like) appeared from a small shrub on the rocky landscape. The dragon's attention now diverted, Hermione saw Cedric edge around the back of the dragon to retrieve the golden egg, which was glimmering as rays of sunlight hit it from all angles. Eyes on his tall, lanky form, Hermione did not see the scaly tail of the beast swing around to nearly knock him over, and it seemed that neither did Cedric. Dodging just in time, he received a rather large wound from one of the dragon's sharp spikes protruding from its tail. Hermione let out a small scream and could see him wince in pain.

The pain of his injury too much, Cedric's concentration wavered, and it took only a second for his transfigured dog to take back its original form: a very uninteresting bush. The dragon, no longer frustrated with the now non-existent barking dog, swivelled its head around to stare at Cedric, who unfortunately had kicked a rock in his stumble to the egg, now resting in his left hand, the blood from his left shoulder wound seeping through his clothes. He looked up in horror as the Swedish Short-Snout's jaws slowly opened. It took a huge intake of breath, in which time Cedric's face went from fearful to determined, and blew. Cedric's comparatively small figure next to the dragon was immersed in bright flickering blue flames and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her scream. Her breathing turned erratic as the fire kept on going.

One thing that most people didn't know is that the Swedish Short-Snout's fire power was very weak compared to that of, say, the Hungarian Horntail. Of course, if caught in the middle of a large bout of flames, one would certainly die. However, if the right spell was used, you could escape with only minor burns.

So when Cedric was still standing as the fire went out, looking only minimally scorched, Hermione had tears running down her face in relief. He lowered his wand arm, exhausted, and quickly ducked under the belly of the massive creature, leaving the dragon tamers to try and restrain the wild beast. Next to Hermione, Ron was standing stock still, staring at the burnt black rock platform that Cedric had been standing on. His face was pale white.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione muttered to herself. "Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin! I am going to  _kill_  him!" she growled. Heart beating frantically in her chest, Hermione virtually collapsed into her seat.

If she could barely get through Cedric's retrieval of the egg without passing out, Hermione didn't want to know how she would get through Harry's.

 

\---

 

"How  _dare_  you, you insufferable, pig-headed, selfish  _moron_!" Cedric rolled his eyes as Hermione ran up to him in the first-aid tent, berating him for his behaviour, he presumed, while fighting the dragon. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? You could have  _died_ , Cedric. Does that mean anything to you?" Hermione's face nearly looked like it was shaking with her rage. Her hair was like a wild mane, and she frustratingly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear so she could glare at him better.

"It's the Triwizard Tournament, Granger. Get used to it." He stared at her as Madam Pomfrey dabbed a thick orange paste on his burns, all covering the right half of his chest and face from the sideways stance he was in when he was nearly burnt to a crisp. Cedric cringed as she dabbed a little too hard on his upper arm, which, Hermione noted with great pleasure, was fairly defined. She finally took the time to look over his attire and realised he was shirtless. Hermione was looking at Cedric Diggory… bare-chested.

_Oh God._

She dragged her eyes up from his slight six-pack to see him looking at her with raised eyebrows. Spluttering, Hermione struggled to redeem herself.

"I- well- no- wait- I will  _not_  get used to it!" She blushed furiously; in anger, of course.

"Uh huh." Cedric replied. The nurse moved over to his other side, staring at the long laceration he had received to his shoulder, blood weeping out of the wound.

"Thankfully, this one's a little easier to fix, Diggory." She tutted as she bustled over to a stand holding a lot of healing equipment. She pulled a rather sickly looking mustard yellow vial out of a box, and Hermione knew what it was instantly.

"Prevention Potion." she said, looking at Cedric worriedly.

"That's right." Pomfrey said, appraising Hermione with her eyes, "This will prevent infection and quicken the healing process." she poured the vial into a brown goblet, handing it to Cedric. He took his first sip and nearly choked. "Unfortunately, it doesn't taste the best." Cedric looked at her incredulously, as if to say 'Doesn't taste the best? This is revolting!'. Pomfrey ignored his stare and continued to treat his shoulder, pouring a gooey purple liquid onto it. It smoked and Cedric flinched as it stung. She poked his shoulder with her wand, and Hermione saw it heal instantly, amazed at the process. She went to stroke the smooth skin as Cedric sullenly gulped down the potion, nearly gagging, but decided against it.

"What you did was incredibly reckless, Cedric." Hermione said sternly, staring him down once her arm was by her side. He rolled his eyes once more at her protective behaviour _. Since when has she been so… caring?_  He thought to himself.

"And incredibly brilliant. I got the egg, didn't I?" he held up the magnificent golden egg in his left hand, and the nurse swatted it down as she was still performing spells on his injury.

Hermione frowned at him.

"So how did Potter go? I was brought straight here after my try." Cedric asked, looking around him for signs of Harry.

Hermione sighed. "Just as terrifying. I thought I was going to have a heart attack."

"Well maybe you were. You should probably get that checked out." He stated matter-of-factly. This time it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. Her eyes bored into his for a moment.

Suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, her hands slapping against his back, careful to avoid anything that would cause him immense pain. Still, he winced, annoyed that he could not return the favour with his beaten body. "I'm just glad you're alive." She said into his neck, her hot breath making him think things he knew he probably shouldn't about the pretty fourth year.  _Stop it right now,_  he ordered himself,  _she's just a child!_

 _She doesn't look like one,_ a voice inside his head piped up, growling as Hermione tightened her hold. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Hermione then realised her  _extremely_ close proximity, and that Cedric was in fact topless. Blushing like a bright red fire engine, she pulled back, removing her arms from around his neck awkwardly. She cleared her throat.

"I should go and check on Harry." She stated, avoiding his eyes. He squinted in thought.

"Yeah, you should." His voice was husky and he knew what with. It seemed Hermione did too, for when he spoke, her blush grew.

"See you around, Cedric." She said, and went to walk away. Not watching where she was going, she bumped into a table. Hermione squeaked in surprise, quickly moving around the offending table. She could hear Cedric's chuckle fade into the background as she walked away, her blush very prominent.

 

\---

 

Thankfully, Harry and Ron had made up after Harry had fought the dragon. Hermione had watched the whole exchange with annoyance. It was all so stupid.

After that, the next week passed in a blur. Hermione was basking in the relief that Harry and Cedric had survived the first task, although her dreams still continued. She barely got to see Cedric throughout the week, however, as it seemed he was always surrounded by his boisterous friends or fluttering fan-girls. Hermione looked on from afar, bitter.

So when Monday came around, it was with great surprise that she saw Cedric outside of the Gryffindor common room, seemingly waiting for her.

"Cedric," she said, her voice an octave higher in her shock, "What are you doing here?" He pushed off the wall he was leaning on, and strode over to her.

"I want to take you somewhere." He said, looking down at her. All of a sudden, Hermione did one thing she normally never did: think like a girl.  _Oh no,_  she thought,  _I look dreadful! My hair's a mess, and my bag is overloaded with books._  He continued to stare at her expectantly.  _Do I say yes? Where's 'somewhere'?_

"Alright." She answered. Her body was of its own accord as the words flew from her mouth. Hermione's eyes widened at her answer, but she was too afraid to take it back. Cedric grinned at her. He took her by the elbow and led her down the corridor. He released her hand, and she felt a lingering presence on her lower back. She breathed in sharply.

"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, her heart thumping against her ribcage. He smirked down at her, and she felt herself become flustered.

"To the kitchens." He replied simply. Hermione stared at him as they kept walking. She deliberately ignored the gaping mouths and whispers following them as they walked past the many students in the hallway.

"And why would we be going there?" Hermione asked slowly. "Apart from just to eat, obviously." She added as he raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I wanted to talk something over with you." He smiled gloriously. Hermione gulped in anticipation, and did not ask him what he wanted to 'talk over' with her, distracted enough as it is. She felt hot all over, and the area where his hand was situated began to burn uncomfortably, even through her school shirt and jumper. She fidgeted slightly.

They arrived in tension-filled silence at the entrance to the kitchens. Cedric stepped forward and tickled the pear in the painting. It giggled girlishly, and Hermione looked at it weirdly, before climbing through as Cedric held open the portrait for her. She smiled gratefully.

The kitchens were  _huge_. And Hermione wasn't making an understatement. The kitchens were the exact size of the Great Hall. High-ceilinged and wide, but with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans stacked around the stone walls. She could see complete replicas of the house tables, and even the staff table, set out the same. Empty shiny gold plates lay out like they were before food appeared on them in the Great Hall. A great brick fireplace was at the other end of the large room. It was then that Hermione figured once all the food was placed in the right place, it got sent up to the Great Hall above, where all tables were positioned exactly the same. She was astounded.

"Wow." was all she could say, as she glanced around, seeing small little creatures running around everywhere.  _Elves,_  she recognised. About a hundred of them all stopped at once, turning to Cedric and her, and beginning to bow and curtsey.

"There's no need for that, little ones." Cedric said, waving them off. They continued to beam excitedly at their visitors. Cedric turned to her. "Amazing, isn't it?" he said breathlessly, and Hermione knew that he was as stunned by it as she was, even though he'd been to the kitchens many times before.

"Definitely." she said, and grinned widely at him.

"Come on." he said, and led her to one of the house tables as the elves went back to their cooking.  _Hufflepuff,_ Hermione noted. She thought it was odd not sitting at her usual table on the other side of the hall, but felt strangely comfortable sitting across from Cedric _. He always makes me comfortable,_  she thought.  _Hermione!_  A voice warned.

"Dobby!" Cedric called, keeping his eyes locked with her. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt nervously.

"Yes, Cedric Diggory, sir? What can Dobby get for you, sir?" the house elf bounced on the balls of his feet joyfully, and Hermione stared wide-eyed at his eagerness.

Cedric smiled, friendly. "I'd like a piece of pumpkin pie with some ice cream, if you don't mind, Dobby."

"Oh yes, sir, Cedric Diggory, sir!" Dobby said, practically jumping up and down in excitement. Hermione was stunned that such a small create was capable of so much… joy. "And you, miss, what can Dobby get for you, miss?"

She stared for a moment longer, trying to remember where she had seen a house elf with such enthusiasm, before shaking her head and smiling politely.

"I'll have the same, Dobby, thank you." Dobby's large, beady eyes gleamed in adoration and he scurried off to cook their requests. She heard Cedric chuckle and looked over at him.

"Is he always that…  _hyper?_ " Hermione asked incredulously. Cedric laughed, shaking his head.

"Not always. He's just happy to meet you." He paused, contemplating whether he should continue. He did. "I've told him about you."

Hermione blushed faintly, looking down. Cedric always managed to make her embarrassed, flattered and speechless all at the same time. It was inconceivable.

"Dobby has your food, Cedric Diggory, sir." the small elf squeaked from the floor, holding up two bowls of mouth-watering pumpkin pie. Hermione locked her eyes onto the nearest bowl, following its path as it was placed on the table. "Is there anything else you need Dobby to get, sir and miss?" He bobbed up and down in an unusual rhythm.

"No, thank you, Dobby. That's quite enough." Cedric answered. Dobby looked as if he wanted to ask again, but shuffled away quickly. By this time, Hermione had picked up her spoon and was shovelling the delicious pie into her mouth, moaning in delight. Cedric looked at her, both eyebrows raised. Hermione blushed prettily.

"I like pumpkin pie." She smile sheepishly as Cedric tried hard to hold in his grin, picking up his spoon to eat his own pie.

When they were finished, or really when Cedric was finished while Hermione watched him eat, Hermione got straight to the point.

"So what did you want to… talk over?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, curious.

"Well," Cedric began, and he shifted in his seat, looking nervous, "I wanted to ask you a favour…" he trailed off, unsure.

"Yes?" Hermione prompted. She smiled in encouragement.

"I was wondering- well, if you- that is, presuming you want to-" he sighed at his failed attempts at getting out his question. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes suddenly piercing. "I wanted your help with the second task." Hermione frowned in confusion. "Finding out the clue, researching… all that stuff." He finished. There was no response from her. "So, what do you say?"

"You really thought I would refuse?" Hermione asked rhetorically. Cedric looked confused. "Of course I'll help you! I was waiting for you to ask, actually." She smiled guiltily. "Was all this-" she gestured at the kitchen surrounding them "just to butter me up in the hopes I would say yes?" Hermione asked, laughing. For once in one of their conversations, Cedric blushed slightly.

"Kind of." He replied, and Hermione laughed. He soon joined in, her laugh contagious. They only calmed down when Dobby came tottering over to where they were seated.

"I'm sorry Cedric Diggory sir, but Dobby has to fill the tables with food for dinner." Dobby looked genuinely heartbroken that he had to ask them to leave. "Please come back again, sir. And bring your misses with you!" Dobby exclaimed, smiling brightly. Hermione and Cedric looked at each other once more, and burst out laughing. Dobby stood there innocently, watching.

"We'll leave you to dinner, Dobby." Hermione said through snickers. "Thank you very much." She added, taking deep breaths to gather herself. She stood up, and Cedric followed, still chuckling.

"Do you want to walk around for a bit?" Cedric asked as they walked over to the portrait hole, tiny elves bowing at them as they went by.

"Sure." Hermione replied, grinning at him. He returned the favour and they opened the portrait hole.

"Please say hello to Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, sir!" Dobby called as the portrait swung closed.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Dobby is obsessed with Potter. Said he saved him two years ago, or something." Cedric replied, rolling his eyes.

Then it clicked. That was Dobby.  _Dobby_ , Malfoy's ex-house elf! She'd have to tell Harry. She was suddenly distracted when Cedric pulled on her arm, dragging her down the corridor.

"Come on!" he exclaimed. "I know the perfect place!" she laughed and followed him happily, giddy as she felt the soon-to-be-familiar scorching heat where Cedric's fingers wrapped around her forearm.  _He might know the perfect place,_  Hermione thought dreamily,  _but anywhere with him_ is _perfect._

_Oh Merlin. I've fallen for Cedric Diggory._

'Oh Merlin', indeed.


	4. Dates

It was the last day of term, and Hermione was yet again avoiding everyone. Talk of the Yule Ball was grating on her nerves. Giggling girls everywhere, and grunting hormonal boys too. She knew she'd never get asked by anyone, but that didn't stop her secretly hoping to be. Hermione would probably accept anyone at this rate. It had been just over a week since the ball had been announced, and Hermione hadn't been approached once. There wasn't something wrong with her, was there? No. She just suspected that people didn't like her outspoken attitude… or the fact she actually had brains to go along with her mediocre looks. She didn't think she was that pretty. Rather plain - with an average complexion. Her face was scattered in a slight sprinkle of freckles, and her hair lay limp, but still impossibly wild, down to her shoulders. Hermione had a small, straight nose and boring muddy brown eyes. There was nothing wrong with her, she concluded. She was too good for any of the immature boys in her year, anyway. But some of the older boys…

She shouldn't get her hopes up.

To put it short, Hermione was miserable about the drama that was the Yule Ball. Not to mention she had three subjects she had been very tempted to skip today; History of Magic, Charms and Potions… with the Slytherins. What had she done to deserve this? Hermione had never really liked History of Magic very much, but thought it crucial to understanding the world she missed out on growing up in. Charms was alright, but all they did the whole lesson was play games. Because she was avoiding Harry and Ron, and therefore not sitting next to them, Hermione resigned herself to sitting by herself at the back, reading over  _Stop Nightmares Where They Start_  by Santi White – clearly a muggleborn by the obvious muggle name.

Then there was Potions. Hermione abhorred the subject like no other. She was sure she would enjoy it if Professor Snape didn't hate on her so. Making poison antidotes, and being tested on it for that matter, meant that Hermione's patience was hanging by a thread. Malfoy's snide comments weren't helping at all.

"Is there an antidote to mudblood filth?" he had said when she had walked past with some of her ingredients. She had snarled at him, particularly irritable. Of course, he had to be incredibly annoying all class.

So when Hermione arrived in the Great Hall for dinner, she was eternally grateful for the abundant feast placed before her. Grabbing all she could, which included roast chicken, salad, potatoes, pumpkin, and a nice large serving of apple sauce (something she had to have on everything), Hermione sat in silence, golfing down her meal with a renewed enthusiasm. She was there early so as to avoid the general population of Hogwarts, and had left by the time she saw Harry and Ron disappearing into the huge hall behind a throng of hungry students.

Walking through the Entrance Hall to one of the staircases that would lead her to Gryffindor tower, Hermione could not help but notice the extravagant decorations that had been put up this year. She supposed it was Hogwarts' way of impressing their visitors as she saw large icicles hanging from the staircase banisters. Upon placing her hand on the railing, she realised they were charmed so they would not be cold to touch. Hermione smiled at the obvious thoughtfulness. She hated the cold.

She even noticed that the suits of armour were all bewitched to sing Christmas carols when someone passed them. Hermione had strode past one and it had burst into 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas'. It had nearly toppled her over in her surprise, before she chuckled slightly to herself and moved on before it could start to serenade her completely.

Reaching the Fat Lady, she smiled at the friendly portrait and said the password, "Fairy lights." The heavy portrait swung open with a faint creak. Climbing through, Hermione was met with a warm, but very empty common room. She went up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and settled herself onto her bed, flinging her outer robe onto her bed. Crouching down and ducking her head under her bed, she pulled out all the books on her dream research, intent on delving more deeply into it. It was currently going nowhere, and Hermione was getting frustrated. Why was she even having these dreams? It didn't make sense at all. She had never met Cedric until the Quidditch World Cup, and her dreams had started as soon as she'd gone back to school. She needed to know the connection between the when and the where, as well as the how; if it was at all possible these dreams were prophetic. Divination was a silly subject, though. It always had been.

Flicking through  _The Dark Arts And Divination: A Deadly Mixture_ , Hermione found something relevant at last. She sat upright in interest, moving the book closer to her and reading reverently.

_It is a rare gift to predict the future. It is also rather selective. Depending on the ability, some see life, some see death, and some see random events that may bare no meaning or connection to the Seer._

_However, there are those who are given these abilities by chance. They are not always present. With coming and going visions, it is hard to determine whether these people are actually Seers. There is much controversy amongst those who delve into the subject._

" _If someone does not possess the Seer ability for their whole life, they are not a Seer." says Professor Woodleturn of Durmstrang (b. 1943 – d. 1984), "Anyone who believes themselves to have the ability to see into the unknown future, but can only prove this at unpredictable points in time, is merely a fraud."_

Hermione scoffed at Woodleturn's words. Was she a fraud, huh? She didn't ask to have this "gift" thrust upon her. She continued to read the passage.

_Perhaps the most questionable Seer ability is that of a Death Seer. A witch or wizard who Sees people die. These visions can come in a variety of ways: prophecies, dreams, and even mysterious objects that suddenly appear (although this is the least common)._ _Undisputedly, Death Seers are often referred to as the Grim in human form. To be able to know when someone will die is an ominous gift, one that can not be taken lightly. It is highly advisable to avoid interference, and let the future happen as it should. There have been dire consequences to those that have not heeded this advice._

_An example of this is Frederick Benthour, who chose to…_

Hermione stopped reading after that. So she was a Death Seer… but her ability was completely random and it would be best if she were not to interfere.

 _How can I do that?_  Hermione thought.  _I can't just let Cedric die._

And she couldn't. Malicious was one thing Hermione was not, and letting Cedric die was a prime example of that. It would be evil. It would be unfair. Thinking of his family, Hermione knew she could not do that to the father that was so proud of his son, and the mother she knew loved him dearly. Hell, she couldn't do it to Cedric. A boy- no, man- with such a promising future, deserved to fulfil it. Standing by and watching him die would torture her. She would fix this. Hermione could make everything better, everything normal.

Once again, Hermione was faced with an almost impossible task. But she was Hermione Granger – she always succeeded.

Nodding to herself in agreement, and confident of her abilities to prevent the incoming death of Cedric Diggory, Hermione continued to read through the, roughly, seven or eight books she had hidden underneath her bed, taking notes where necessary. It was not until an hour or so later that Hermione felt her lids droop and her hand ache. Without packing away her research, Hermione lay back, head landing on her pillow.

"I'll just rest for a few minutes..." she murmured.

_Her forehead burned painfully. She felt like screaming in agony, and moved her mud-flecked hands, slapping her forehead in hopes of relieving the immense pain._ _It did nothing._

" _What's wrong?" she heard a voice – Cedric - ask. Her eyes were scrunched, and she felt them sink back into her skull slightly as she placed her hands over them. Opening her eyes, she couldn't focus on anything. Her vision incredibly blurry, she felt a sudden surge of anger at this body. She couldn't see anything. Reaching around blindly, she found the thin wire she needed and placed it on her face. Suddenly, everything became clearer and she saw Cedric's handsome face loom closer to her._

" _Scar." she croaked, her voice undeniably male. She felt like flames had flickered up her throat, singeing the sensitive skin raw. It caused for a burning feeling when she spoke. Hermione didn't know how she could go on like this. A multitude of pains were coming from all over her body, and Hermione was so overwhelmed, that she could not differentiate between them anymore._

_She groaned pitifully, clenching her fists. It seemed her ears were the only things on alert as she heard the rustle of leaves about fifteen feet in front of her. She looked up quickly, almost snapping her head back in her haste. Her black hair stuck to her forehead, making her feel very uncomfortable. She looked over at Cedric and saw him frown at the moving figure, holding up his wand protectively. He glanced at her quickly before resuming his gaze at the intruder._

" _Who are you?" he ordered, rather than asked. His voice did not waver._

" _Kill the spare." rasped a cold voice, chilling Hermione to the bone as she felt goosebumps form all over her skin. She saw the quick movement of a wand coming into the hands of the short, stumpy, cloaked man striding closer. On instinct, she pushed herself off the ground, the muscles in her legs twinging, and stood, staring straight at the imposter. The wand pointed at Cedric, Hermione was ready to pounce, hand gripped firmly on her-_ Harry's _wand. It was not until she saw the unfamiliar but lethal words forming on the man's tongue that she realised she was mistaken in her interpretation of the man's intentions. Her eyes widened._

She screamed, sitting straight up in bed, gasping for hair. Her thick hair was plastered to her forehead, sweat coating her skin. She stayed that way for a moment, trying to regain her breath and calm her pounding heart. Her covers were very wrinkled, and she saw her papers thrown all over her dormitory floor, the book she had been reading upturned beside her bed. She sighed, used to this happening, and packed away her belongings.

 _Another one,_  she thought.  _I just hope I can get to him in time._

Far from refreshed, Hermione glanced at her alarm clock and knew that her peace and quiet was over; everyone would be back in the common room at eight thirty. Grumbling tiredly, she ran her hands through her hair, huffing in frustration. She felt like she'd never figure this out. She didn't have that much time. The second task was fast approaching, and who knew whether that could be his demise? Hermione shuddered. She couldn't think like that. She had plenty of time. She'd save Cedric, and she'd no longer have these dreams. Everything would be fine. Pushing herself off of her bed, Hermione shuffled over to the door, not bothering to straighten her uniform. Shirt untucked, skirt longer on one side, and tie loosened, almost to the point where it would fall off, Hermione walked down the stairs to the common room.

"Hermione!" she heard Ginny exclaim. Hermione moved her head slowly to gaze at Ginny, eyes still half-lidded. Moving closer to Ginny, she realised she was sitting with Harry and Ron, who looked to be talking. Ron looked an odd green colour.

"Wow. You look exhausted." Ginny said, taken back. It was unusual for Hermione to look so down-trodden.

"Thanks, Gin." Hermione replied sarcastically. She wished people would give her a break about her appearance. Yes, she knew she looked like a unkempt hippogriff – no one needed to tell her.

Her eyes roved over to the two boys behind Ginny. "What happened?" she inquired, rubbing at her eyes to get rid of the images of her dream. Often they wouldn't leave her alone until a few hours after.

"Harry and Ron just got turned down by girls they asked to the ball." Ginny said, looking behind her at the two embarrassed teenagers.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny." Ron said. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"I bet Eloise Midgen is looking a right treat now, Ron, huh?" Hermione said dryly, plopping herself onto the couch opposite them as Ginny sat on the hand rest.

"Hermione, you're a girl-" Ron started.

"Oh, well spotted, Weasley." Hermione replied acidly. Honestly, these boys would be the death of her. Tired and aggravated, she tried to listen to Ron's horribly insensitive words.

"-you can go with one of us, then!" he finished. Hermione frowned at him, having only just tuned in. His presumptions made her incredibly annoyed.

"I'm sorry,  _Ronald_ , but I've already been asked." She actually hadn't, but she definitely didn't want to go the Yule Ball with Ron. In fact, she couldn't think of anything worse. Dressed in most likely dreadful dress robes, she could imagine his clumsy dancing and complete inconsiderate attitude toward her and her wants or needs.  _No,_  she concluded,  _I am absolutely sure I don't want to go with Ronald._

"Oh come on! We need partners. We're going to look really stupid if everyone else has a partner and we don't." Ron said impatiently.

"I can't go with you, Ron, because I've already been asked!" Hermione blushed faintly, but in frustration and not embarrassment. The lies spewing forth from her mouth were making her upset; it was like rubbing salt into the wound.

"Oh, that's bull!" Ron exclaimed, laughing. She glared at him resolutely, her anger rising.  _Take deep breaths,_  a voice whispered inside her head as she sucked in a breath.  _It's Ron, you have to be patient. He doesn't think about anybody else, remember?_

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Harry beat her there first. "Is it Diggory?" he asked, spitting out the name. Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed. Why had he said his name with such disgust? And why did he even presume she would be going with him?

"Because I can tell you now, he asked Cho as well." Harry said, casting his eyes down. Ahh, Cho. There was the reason for everything. "And she said yes."

Hermione's eyes softened, and she tried to convey her sympathy to Harry, but he kept his eyes down. "No, it wasn't Cedric." she replied quietly. So Cedric had asked Cho to the Yule Ball. She couldn't say she was surprised, but it still stung a little.

Ginny looked on in confusion, while Ron was grumbling about Cedric's womanizing ways under his breath.

"Look- it just… it doesn't matter, alright? I can't go with either of you, and that's final." Hermione gave them one last fleeting look and stood up, running a hand through her tangled hair and walking to the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?" Ron shouted out to her. She looked over at the group as she climbed through the portrait hole.

"Away from everyone!" she called back over her shoulder, and the portrait swung shut, obscuring her from view.

 

\---

 

It was the nineteenth of December, the first day of the holidays. Hermione woke to the glaring sun, which had finally found the strength to show through the dark ominous clouds. It was nearly midday, and Hermione decided that she would sleep in this late the rest of the holidays.

 _Sleep is good,_  she mused to herself, throwing her covers off herself and shivering slightly in the crisp air. She pulled on a mid-thigh-length cardigan, tying it around her waist over her tracksuit pants and long-sleeved, warm top she had worn to sleep. Pulling her slippers on her feet, she trudged down the stairs to the common room, noticing absentmindedly that all her roommates beds were empty, a few unmade like hers. Despite what people thought, Hermione was a fairly messy person, especially as of late. Her desk was always cluttered, papers strewn everywhere. She often left her bed unmade, and clothes often hung crinkled on her bed posts. She'd given up caring about her section of the dorms lately; why bother being clean when no one else but her and her roommates would be seeing it? There was no point, in Hermione's opinion, and it saved her time in the morning, anyway.

She saw the fireplace alight and glowing on the other side of the room and walked over to it, her feet heavy. She slumped into the most comfortable armchair, right next to the fire, and closed her eyes contentedly. Even though she'd just woken up, Hermione did not like to rush the morning ritual. Drowsiness was part of this ritual.

"Hello." a small voice said from above her. Hermione jumped quite considerably, looking up. She saw a tall, lanky boy standing above her - Neville. She smiled in relief.  _He's grown,_  Hermione noted, staring up at him.

"Hey Neville. You very nearly scared me to death, you know." Hermione said, sitting up as Neville sat across from her. He smiled tentatively at her, and Hermione wondered what in the world he could be nervous about. She and Neville had always been friendly, and he'd even taken to talking to her in the common room for hours on end. Neville loved to learn, like her. He just wasn't very good at it, he had said.

He stayed silent, and Hermione thought he looked like he was trying to say something. She smiled at him, amused.

"Just spit it out, Neville." she encouraged. He smiled at her in thanks.

"I was just wondering… whether you would like to go to the ball with me." Neville said nervously. "Just as friends, I mean." he clarified. Hermione stared at him in shock. Neville? Neville had just asked her to the ball? Well, that was unexpected.

Neville started to dread the answer as silence followed his request.

"Hermione?" he asked timidly. That snapped her out of her train of thought. She looked at him for a moment before smiling.

"I would love to go with you, Neville." she answered, and was happy with her decision when she saw the cutest grin break out on Neville's face. She grinned back.

"Thanks Hermione." he said gratefully.

"No problem, Neville." she replied, standing up to just below his height. "I've got to go, but I'll see you around, alright?" Hermione said. She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, then proceeded to race up the stairs. Neville stared, stunned, as she left.

When she reached her dorm, Hermione closed the door with a thud, leaning against it and smiling. Neville asking her to the ball was an unpredictable move, but she was happy. She finally had an excuse  _not_  to go with Ron, and Neville was a nice guy. He was a great friend. She smirked to herself when she thought of another boy.

Cedric wouldn't know what hit him.

 

\---

 

The next week passed slowly. Hermione spent her time searching ways in which she could tame her hair, as well as visiting Hogsmeade frequently to find dress robes and to complete her Christmas shopping. She decided she would buy something for Cedric. It was a bit problematic though, as she had no idea what to get him. She knew he liked Quidditch, but that was about it. So when she was walking through Quality Quidditch Supplies three days before the ball and not knowing what half of the items in there were for, she realised she didn't really know Cedric all that well.

A bit disheartened, she decided to try her luck at Madam Malkin's for some dress robes. Opening the glass door, she let herself in as the bell above the door jingled merrily. As far as she could see, the shop was empty, which made Hermione feel slightly better. She much preferred shopping along. Carrying around her bags filled with extra ink and quills, a Quidditch book and some pretty foul products from Zonko's she knew Ron would love, Hermione scoured through the many dresses on the racks. Moving over to the stand that was her price range, Hermione passed a disgusting brown lacy dress, and a rather vibrant red one, which was much too stand-out for her liking. Simple, but elegant was what she was going for.

"Can I help you, dear?" Hermione turned around to see a woman with greying hair, gazing at her politely. She smiled.

"Actually yes. I need a dress for the Yule Ball, but I'm afraid I don't have… much." She finished lamely, blushing. Madam Malkin, she presumed, nodded in understanding. "I want something simple, but elegant. It'd be nice to look different, but not to stand out  _too_  much." Hermione looked at a rather sickly yellow dress in disapproval. "I still want to look like me."

"Oh, I know just the thing for you, miss." she said excitedly, looking Hermione up and down. Hermione squirmed under her stare. "Follow me, this way." Madam Malkin ordered, bustling around the stand Hermione was previously looking at. Hermione followed her to the stand adjacent.

"These are much more your style, dear." she said, pulling out dresses and shoving them against Hermione to see how she looked. She pushed a rather nice emerald green dress back onto the stand, instead pulling out a brilliant periwinkle blue one.

"How are you with blue?" the shopkeeper said, eyeing Hermione.

"I like i-"

"Perfect!" she shoved the dress in Hermione face, and she had to shoot back to avoid being hit in the head. "Try this on."

Hermione took the garment reluctantly, moving over to the dressing room, dropping her coat and bags outside.

She came out a few minutes later, unsure.

"You look beautiful, dear." Madam Malkin said, grinning as soon as Hermione stepped out from behind the curtain. "Blue is definitely your colour." she said, moving over to fix the straps and tighten the fabric in places Hermione thought did not need tightening.

 _I'm not that small, am I?_  she thought, twisting her face in confusion.

"I have to pin it to fit you more snugly. But no doubt your date will be drooling by the end of the night." Hermione looked down at herself, running her hands over the smooth silk and looking at the delicate bow just below her breast line. She saw the material flare out slightly at the bottom. The dress flowed beautifully, and Hermione relished in the way it felt against her legs. Looking down at her feet, just peeking out from the material, Hermione knew she would need Madam Malkin's advice for shoes.

"I'll take it." Hermione beamed. She went back into the dressing room after Madam Malkin had pinned the dress perfectly, supposedly enhancing the 'assets that need to be shown off'.

Changed, Hermione came out and collected her things, paying the smirking witch and thanking her profusely, agreeing to pick it up on the day before Christmas. She paused before walking toward the door.

"Umm… I was wondering whether… would you help me find some suitable shoes?" Hermione asked quietly, blushing at her ignorance. Madam Malkin smiled brightly.

"My pleasure, dear." she answered. "You look to be the same size as myself. You can borrow a pair of my shoes. They go perfectly."

She disappeared from behind the counter in a storeroom behind, coming back with a pair of small high heels, beaded and silver. Hermione stared at them in amazement. Madam Malkin held them out and Hermione grabbed them greedily.

She looked up at the shopkeeper. "These are magnificent!" she exclaimed, hugging them to her chest.

The woman behind the counter chuckled and smiled. "They're yours, dear."

Hermione looked at her. "No!" she said in disbelief.

"Yes." Madam Malkin said simply.

Hermione squealed for what was probably the first time in her life, thanking the shopkeeper over and over for her generosity.

She left the store feeling sufficiently giddy. Hermione couldn't wait to show everybody who she could be, and what she had the potential to look like. Giggling to herself, she set a steady pace back to the castle.


	5. Yule Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the most embarrassing author's notes on ff.net...... oh, 16 year old me was such a fangirl. I also used to add song lyrics to chapters, but have decided to exclude them on this platform. They weren't entirely relevant.

Hermione woke on Christmas morning to a bitter chill. Despite this, she threw the covers off herself with vigor, and crawled to the base of her bed. As long as she could remember, she had always loved Christmas. So it was with a frenzy that she did not know she possessed that Hermione examined her presents.

 _One from Harry, Ron, Hagrid, Mrs Weasley, her parents and… Dobby?_  Hermione smiled in amusement. It seemed that elf was all too eager to give anybody anything,

Harry had given her a book on dreams. Hermione was fairly surprised, and realised that Harry really was perceptive. It was just a shame he chose not to apply the ability to other aspects of his life. _Like that egg,_  Hermione thought.  _He's going to get a rude shock when he has one week and doesn't know anything._

Putting down  _How To Interpret Your Dreams_  by Georgina Gertuffle, Hermione picked up Ron's present, obvious by the poor choice of wrapping paper. Ron was thick if he thought he could get 'Happy Birthday' wrapping paper by Hermione. She shook her head, and ripped open the paper to see a worn, large book. It looked like a tome, but knowing how rare they were, Hermione didn't get her hopes up. Turning it over, she saw it was a sixth year Charms textbook. By the roughness of the cover as Hermione glided her hands over it, she suspected it to be a hand-me-down from one of Ron's brothers. She was not offended, however, as she knew Ron had actually put some thought into this present. Hermione loved to get ahead of her current work. A sixth year text would be challenging… but she knew the advantages of knowing such content. She just hoped she could get a chance to learn it all. In between her own fourth year work, dream interpreting and helping Harry with the tournament, she knew her time would run thin.

After opening Hagrid's assortment of sweets, and picking at her favourites, Hermione opened Mrs Weasley's gift warily. She knew that the mother of the Weasley family always read the  _Daily Prophet_ , and it would be a miracle if she didn't believe what was written. Picking at the paper nervously, Hermione decided it would be best if she got it over and done with, and tore at the wrapping with determination. Pleasantly surprised, Hermione put her new emerald green woolly scarf around her shoulders.

Her parents were never ones to delve too deeply in the Wizarding world, and for that she was grateful. Hermione was sure that if they ever considered getting to know the world of magic more than they currently did, they would not be so accepting of her friendship with Harry, or her soon-to-be involvement in the upcoming war. It was only a matter of time, Hermione figured, before Voldemort would find a way to come back.

So it was always with great reluctance that Hermione opened her Christmas present from her parents. Inevitably muggle, she wasn't sure she would ever find uses for their gifts. Over the years she had been proved wrong, time and time again. It did nothing to settle her anxiety, though.

Carefully tearing the paper of the meticulously wrapped wide, flat box, Hermione smoothed her hands over the cold leather now exposed. There was a note attached.

_Hermione,_

_We heard from Molly and Arthur that there was a ball to be held at school this year. Knowing you would go out and buy a dress with your own money, we thought we could lend a hand in other ways. I made sure it would match almost anything. Your father has told me to remind you that he will not be so generous next time. But remember, darling, he says that every year._

_Love always,_

_Mum and Dad_

Hermione chuckled at the letter. Jane Granger was an extravagant woman, despite being a dentist. As Hermione flicked open the box to find a glittering diamond necklace looking back at her, she never doubted that fact. She wondered how her mother had convinced her father to buy such a thing for a measly school ball, but then realised that Richard Granger had never really been able to deny his wife anything.

Touching the necklace briefly, Hermione thought she should leave it until tonight to squeal over and snapped the lid of the box shut. She moved onto what seemed to be a squishy clump of… something. Knowing it was from Dobby, and appreciative of his efforts, Hermione happily opened up her gift. Finished, she held up a pair of unmatched socks coloured yellow and black. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Dobby knew she liked Cedric a little more than a friend, obviously. She smirked _. Cheeky little creature,_  she thought, collecting all her presents and putting them in her bedside drawer.

Satisfied, Hermione quickly dressed herself into some grey sweat pants, a white top and a cosy blue jumper. Slipping on her shoes, she bounded down the stairs, waiting in the common room for Harry and Ron. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Hermione was met with two puffy-eyed boys ten minutes later. It was obvious they had just woken, but Hermione was so enthusiastic about going to breakfast that she didn't bother to fix their wrinkled clothes. Dragging them both along by the arm, Hermione chatted animatedly down to the open doors of the Great Hall.

All good things come to an end, and unfortunately for Hermione, her mood dissipated. She stopped still after just entering the hall, seeing a familiar mop of permanently wind-blown dirty blonde hair approaching the Ravenclaw table. Cedric placed his hands -  _his gentle hands_ , Hermione cried – on Cho's shoulders. She looked up at him happily and kissed his cheek. He sat down next to her and listened at she talked. There was something off, Hermione noticed. Maybe it was the side of her that denied anything and everything, but she thought she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Cedric's face as Cho continued to talk. His polite smile seemed forced, and Hermione could tell he was bored.

But why? Why would Cedric Diggory willingly go up to Cho Chang, start a conversation, and then get bored of it after the first sentence? It was very unusual, and the analytical part of Hermione's brain was working overdrive and she tried to decipher the meaning of it all. Harry, noticing her gaze, rolled his eyes and tugged on her arm until they reached the Gryffindor table.

Shaking her head to rid of the muddling thoughts, Hermione resolved to ignore him and her dreams and enjoy Christmas morning as she sat down.  _I'll get to Cedric later_ , she mused.

"So what did you guys get for Christmas?" Hermione asked, in hopes that Ron would take the bait and start a rant. To her luck, he did just that. She loaded her plate with pancakes and toast as Ron went into an elaborate explanation of how wearing the jumpers his mother gave him for Christmas each year was a curse. Harry, trying to appease him, gave him food. Unfortunately for him, Ron ended up spitting it back to him as he talked through his mouthful.

Digging into her maple syrup-covered pancakes, Hermione moaned in agreement as she tasted the glorious breakfast food. She didn't know she had a small audience.

"Wow, Granger, I never thought I'd hear  _that_  from  _you_." a voice said from behind her. She turned to see Cedric grinning at her cheekily, and watched as he clambered to sit next to her, their arms brushing.

"What are you doing?" she hissed as he stole some bacon. Looking around her for witnesses, she noticed there were just a bit too many. Her fellow fourth year Gryffindors were staring at her as if she had multiple heads, and she could see Fred and George Weasley open-mouthed further up the table, food dropping out of their mouths, from the corner of her eye.

"I'm eating." he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She looked on in disgust as he shoved more food into his mouth.

"That much is obvious," Hermione said dryly, "But why are you  _here_? You should be at the Hufflepuff table."

"Where's the fun in that?" he said, taking her goblet right out of her hands and gulping down her orange juice.

Confused and too tired to scold him for his behaviour, Hermione looked on in utmost horror as he continued to eat. Mortified, Hermione's cheeks reddened as she was now the centre of attention to the whole hall, it seemed.

As she rubbed her free hand on her forehead to get rid of the growing ache, Hermione saw Cedric pause in his display of what could only be described as a food free-for-all. She lifted her head as he looked intently at her, food forgotten. His eyes crinkled as he gave her his crooked smirk.

"Merry Christmas, Granger." he whispered, leaning in. For one split second, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart plummeted, although still beating erratically, when his lips touched her cheek lightly, lingering for a moment before she heard the screech and felt the jerk as the bench was pushed back. She looked up at him as he walked back to his friends at the Hufflepuff table, who were staring at him in complete shock.

Hermione looked around wide-eyed, and saw Harry and Ron had joined in on the staring. Abandoning her food, she stood up and very nearly jogged out of the Great Hall in her haste.

When she entered the confines of the common room, Hermione sighed in relief and dropped herself onto a comfortable armchair. The gold embroidery of the crimson armchair glimmered as the firelight reflected off of it.

Everyone piled back into the common room soon after, and Hermione was thankful for the sheer amount of people in Gryffindor that made it possible for her to remain inconspicuous as she read Harry's present to her on one of the many desks. Still, it did not stop her from seeing the bright red of Ron enter the common room behind Harry, who was on route to the boys' dorms until he saw her and diverted course. He smirked knowingly as he saw what she was reading, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Most of Gryffindor spent the rest of the morning enjoying their presents and talking to friends. It was Ron's idea to go out on the grounds in the afternoon, and it was with reluctance that Hermione agreed to go. It was really because Ron had said she needed the sun. After replying that it was winter and there would be little to no sun, Hermione went to get changed, telling the boys she would meet them down there.

Rummaging through her bag, Hermione thought a nice long book would be her sun for a couple of hours.

"Oomph!" Hermione groaned as she rammed into something hard, falling over.

"Am I the clumsy one, or is it you?" a familiar voice chimed, amused, and Hermione blushed prettily, pushing herself up slightly so she could gather her strewn belongings. She saw his soft, tanned hands pick up what she was originally trying to find.

" _Advanced Charms: Level Six_?" Cedric said, holding up the scruffy book and looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"A Christmas present." Hermione said shortly, grabbing it from where he held it above her head and stuffing it back into her bag.

"If you can do those… that's pretty impressive for a fourth year." he said. What Hermione knew he meant as a compliment, she took as an offence.

"Yes, well, as a  _fourth year_ , I always like to be ahead." she said icily, her hurt feelings of his choice of date coming back to haunt her.

Cedric frowned slightly, confused. Hermione stared at the crease in his forehead, avoiding looking into the stormy grey eyes that would be sure to make her crumble and confess everything, including her feelings for him.  _I won't let him,_  she thought defiantly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. He reached out to hold onto her elbow, only for her to jerk it back sharply.

"Oh, nothing." she snapped, readjusting her bag strap for something to do.

Her impatience seemed to be rubbing off on him as his face screwed up in confusion.

"Will you please just look at me?" he asked, lowering his voice as a timid third year walked past.

Her eyes involuntary darted to his, and she found she couldn't look away. Hermione was sure Cedric could see the burning embers of determination in her eyes. At the moment, Hermione's emotions got the best of her and she found herself wishing she could kill him herself now and all her problems would fade away.

 _You can't do that,_  a soothing voice said from the back of her mind.  _You like him, and him dying is a whole lot worse than him not returning your feelings._

 _Yeah,_  another voice agreed, annoyingly superior,  _Don't forget that would be murder, meaning Azkaban. There's no easy way out of this._

 _Eugh,_ Hermione groaned _. Shut. Up._

"What?" she replied nastily, her voice sharp. He hesitated for a moment and Hermione took the chance to continue on her way outside, where hopefully the ice cold of the snow would calm the fire burning through her veins at that very time.

She heard his hurried footsteps behind her.

"What is your problem? What have I done?" he asked wildly as he came to stride next to her. She didn't turn to look at him when she spoke.

"How's Cho?" she said, trying to sound casual but failing as her voice came out stiff and her words disjointed.

"Oh, so that's what this is about?" Cedric said, sounding relieved. His tone of voice made Hermione angrier, and she quickened her pace in hopes of getting away from him.

"Why should it matter to you?" he asked, catching up with her again. "It's not as if you wanted me to take you." Hermione huffed, unable to answer for fear of blurting out the truth. It was safer to stay angry rather than nervous.

"Wait- … are-are you serious?" Cedric stuttered. Hermione glanced at him quickly to see him staring at her

"Serious about what?" Now it was time to play dumb, something Hermione was perfect at through practice by Harry and Ron.

"You wanted me to ask you to the ball?" he asked slowly, as if testing whether the question sounded right. Hermione did not say anything for a short moment.

"Of course not, Cedric, don't be silly." Unfortunately for her, Cedric caught her hesitation, but chose not to say anything about it… yet. "I'm going with Neville." she added quietly.

"Longbottom?" Cedric asked, disbelieving. He laughed slightly, but it sounded more hysterical than amused. "Good luck with that."

Hermione frowned, offended. Neville was her friend. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind." he waved her off as he stopped in the middle of the Entrance Hall. Hermione had not noticed how quickly she had walked there. "I'll see you tonight, Granger." he said, walking away from her backwards. "I expect a dance." Cedric called before turning around.

Hermione stared after him, stunned, before scoffing quietly to herself as she shook her head and walked through the doors to Harry and Ron, who seemed to be enjoying a snowball fight with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan.

 

_\---_

 

 _It's ok, you can do this,_  Hermione berated herself.  _Just walk down like you would for breakfast. It's fine. Normal. Everything's normal._  Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath and started the decent down the stairs leading to the common room. She had agreed to meet Neville early, which meant that almost everyone else was still getting ready. Thankfully, that meant no audience, and Hermione was free to walk down without the boisterous laughter at her expense. She smiled when she saw Neville near the fireplace and walked over to him, hair swinging behind her. The sound of her small heels must have alerted him to her presence, because he turned around, and she grinned at what she saw. Dressed in elegant dress robes, Neville looked positively adorable and Hermione couldn't help but comment.

"You look great, Neville." she said as she stopped in front of him. Hermione looked up at him and saw him smile shyly.

"Thanks. You look really nice, Hermione." Neville replied, and she thanked him with her new grin. Only Harry and Ron had seemed to notice the subtle but defining difference, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Do you want to- err.." Neville trailed off, tugging at his left sleeve.

"Go?" she finished for him, smiling reassuringly. "Definitely." Hermione answered, laughing lightly at Neville's embarrassed smile, leading the way through the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall, her arm linked with his.

As they waited in the Entrance Hall for the doors to open, Hermione took the chance to look around her. It seemed most of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were present, with a few Hogwarts students mulling around, waiting for their date. Hermione knew that if McGonagall were to enter at that moment, she would not be very happy with the promptness of her students.

Over near the doors, Hermione could see Fleur Delacour with her date, Roger Davies. His glazed over eyes suggested he didn't even know where he was, so enraptured with the beauty beside him. Hermione rolled her eyes at the hormonal behaviour, dragging her eyes away from the beautiful blonde. She thought she saw a bit of red, and turned her head to see Fred, and Angelina Johnson, in robes of pale yellow, laughing along with George.

Her gaze was immediately drawn to the broad-shouldered boy who strode into the Entrance Hall, Parvati on his arm. Hermione felt as shocked as everyone looked when he tugged Parvati by the arm to the doors to wait for the other champions. So that's who Krum had asked. Hermione was just thankful it wasn't her after the intimidating stares he had given her in the library. They had made her very uneasy.

She saw Ginny enter the Entrance Hall in robes the same colour but differing in style to the emerald green ones Hermione had wanted to try on when shopping for her dress. She waved her over, but was confused when Ginny frowned.

As the redhead got closer, she squinted. "Hermione?" she asked, unconvinced.

"Yes…" Hermione said slowly. She didn't look  _that_  different, did she?

"Wow, you clean up nicely." Ginny looked her up and down. "You really should keep your hair like that." she continued, trapping a smooth lock in between her fingers.

"Oh, please." Hermione scoffed. "Two hours and four bottles of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion does wonders for one night. But doing this everyday would kill me. Besides," she went to add, "I think my hair is finally calming down somewhat. A small charm and I can take away the frizz for good." The two girls grinned at each other.

It was then that Hermione realised she had completely forgotten to ask Ginny who she was going with, and felt rather guilty about it, too. She chose the time now to ask.

"Harry asked me." Ginny said, beaming. Hermione smiled brightly.

"That's awesome, Gin!" Hermione said, hugging the petite girl, who blushed furiously. Her normally confident demeanour had vanished, and Ginny was stuttering constantly, blushing, and unable to keep still.

"I know I'm sort of a rebound girl, but this is my chance, Hermione." Ginny said, determined. "This is my chance to show him what he's missing."

"Exactly," Hermione replied "make him forget about Cho, Gin." She smiled encouragingly at the younger girl. She looked behind Ginny to see Harry running up to them, gasping for air.

"What did I miss?" he panted, bent over with his hands on his knees.

"Nothing yet." Neville said, as Hermione rolled her eyes at his lateness. Finally, he straightened up and noticed Ginny.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Wow, you look… uhh…"

"She looks wonderful." Hermione finished when it looked like Harry could say no more. He gave her a grateful look.

"Yeah, you look wonderful, Ginny. You too, Hermione." Ginny smiled and blushed faintly.

"Thanks Harry, you don't look too bad yourself." Harry smiled at her and turned his head toward the door.

"I think we have to go…" he trailed off as he saw Cedric and Cho enter, and Hermione couldn't blame him.

Cedric's robes were very formal, but not too loose fitting like a lot of wizard's robes. In fact, Hermione could see his Quidditch muscles underneath the black material and nearly drooled all over herself. His hair was casually wind-swept, as usual, and his eyes were squinted into a huge grin as he spoke with the girl on his arm.

But of course, Harry wasn't looking at him, was he?

Hermione longed to drag her fingers through his hair and kiss his red lips, but knew that if she did that, there would be uproar. So she kept her own lips and hands to herself, instead glaring at the small black-haired girl next to the blonde-haired God, convincing herself it wasn't worth the detentions she would receive if she attacked her right then and there.

Now that all the champions had arrived, Hermione noticed McGonagall telling them to line up out of the corner of her eye. She was still staring at Cedric, after all.

After roughly pushing Harry and Ginny in the direction of the doors, Hermione walked forward with Neville as the champions stood off to the side. Cedric caught her eyes for a moment, but she looked away quickly, resisting the temptation to turn her head back around. As she and Neville entered the Great Hall, the difference was astonishing. Hermione could see large icicles hanging from supports, and the twelve Christmas trees looked as beautiful as ever with snow adorning the thick, leafy branches. The tables were decorated with silver tablecloths and golden plates that glittered in the moonlight coming from the bewitched ceiling. The walls were covered with a thin frost, glistening. Hermione took her seat with Neville, who sat next to a sour-looking Ron in robes of a dreadful maroon, accompanied by Padma Patil, in a pretty vibrant orange set of robes. Looking at Ron's disgruntled face once more, Hermione felt sorry for her.

Everyone was called to be quiet, and Hermione waited anxiously to see the champions enter. First was Fleur and a dazed Davies, followed by Krum and a dreamy Parvati. Next was Cedric with Cho and her beautiful cream dress, followed by a distracted Harry and his beaming redhead. Hermione was sure the two looked very like Harry's parents at that moment, but did not want to mention it. When the champions had seated themselves, it was time to eat, and Hermione was starving.

Helping herself to some extra sauce, Hermione talked to Neville for the most part. Chatting with Neville was natural, like talking to an old friend that you hadn't seen in years. Hermione felt they could talk about anything, and was happy that he was her date this evening. She had only one other preference, of course, but he was unattainable.

She looked over at the champions' table and saw Krum steadfastly ignoring Pavarti's girlish blubbering, instead focusing on the adults at the table. She chuckled to herself, looking at the worshipping gaze Roger Davies had for Fleur as she spoke, undoubtedly, about herself. Her gaze fell on Harry, who looked relieved to be talking to Ginny, and from what she could see of their hand movements, about Quidditch. Finally, she directed her gaze to Cedric, who seemed to have the exact same expression on his face as he did that morning when Cho was talking then, too. She frowned in confusion once again, trying to figure it out. There was the sense that he wanted to be anywhere but where he was at that moment, but how could that be? He liked Cho. He invited her to the ball. It was as simple as that.

 _Maybe not_ that  _simple,_  a voice piped up.  _Have you ever thought about_ why _he asked her?_

 _Of course,_ Hermione replied, _He likes her. I would presume that would be the only reason he would ask._

 _Does Ron like Padma?_ Hermione looked over at the two teenagers who sat, not talking, and picking at their food.

 _No._  Hermione thought, realising the connection.  _So Cedric doesn't like her. What does that_ mean _?_ She racked her brain for an answer.

"Hermione," a small voice interrupted. She snapped her head to see Neville fidgeting.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, not looking at her. It was with shock that Hermione realised that she had completely missed the champions' first dance.  _I think I was better off_ not _seeing Cho hanging off of him_ , Hermione thought bitterly.

She smiled at him, pushing away all thoughts of Cedric and his motives for asking Cho to the ball. "Sure." she answered, and both of them stood up.

Hermione knew that she had to lead Neville, and he seemed unashamed that he didn't know how to dance.  _At least he can admit it,_  she thought, laughing internally as she spun around, landing her gaze on Ginny, who was wincing comically, Harry apologising profusely under his breath.

The Weird Sisters took their time to gain momentum, but after a few classically slow dances, their tunes picked up the pace, and Hermione found herself in the middle of a throng of hot, sweaty bodies. She'd lost Neville somewhere along the way.

Getting pushed and pulled, Hermione soon lost all sense of direction and gave up fighting the mob. She was near the band now, next to a burly fifth year boy and a small seventh year, who seemed to be enjoying the band as much as if it were her own wedding. Hermione let the crowd take her to the very side of the dance floor, and shoved her way through the thin line of bodies blocking her from a drinks table. She was nearly there when some punch was spilt all over the front of her dress. Hermione was sure she looked a right mess; hair half undone, although still silky, sweaty and flushed, and now a mysterious drink all over the front of her dress.

She looked up to see who had spilt the sticky liquid on her and saw the sixth year Slytherin locking his eyes onto her bust, which was now glistening weirdly due to the flickering lights in the hall. She rolled her eyes and pushed past him to the drinks table, grabbing herself a cup and filling it with water. Gulping it down quickly, she poured herself another.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Hermione jumped, her drink spilling onto her dress before she had a chance to drink it.

"Oh shoot." she muttered, trying to dab her dress clean, but to no avail.

 _At least it's water this time,_  she thought ruefully as she regarded her dress with a frustrated look. It would have to be specially charmed if she wanted it to look itself again.

"I'm sorry!" a voice tried to speak over the thumping music. She looked up to see dirty blond hair falling over burning grey eyes. Her gaze travelled over his high cheekbones, stained pink with excitement, and then over his straight, angular nose. Looking at his lips, a pink that looked truly delectable, Hermione had trouble restraining herself.

Cedric had never looked more attractive to her.

When he saw it was her, he grinned. "Granger!" he exclaimed, almost yelling over the unrelenting music in the background. "It's you!" He ended up shouting anyway as the bass grew until it was indecipherable.

"No way!" Hermione yelled, grinning as she looked at the jumping group of students. It seemed they no longer cared about their attire as they danced recklessly. "This is insane!" she yelled once more. Short and simple was the way to go; anything more and Cedric wouldn't be able to hear her.

"Come on!" he shouted, grabbing her wrist and putting her plastic cup on the drinks table. She didn't know what he was doing until he started to drag her into the hysterical mob. The music relented for a moment, clapping and singing the only things left. Hermione made the most of the short amount of time, and jerked her hand back, Cedric coming with. He turned to her. "What?" he said. Hermione was surprised she could hear him, but answered him quickly.

"I can't go in there!" she exclaimed, pointing wildly at the dedicated crowd, singing along. "I'll die!" she squeaked, fearful for her safety.

Cedric grinned. "I'll protect you!" he yelled as all the instruments joined in once more. Hermione stood, unconvinced, refusing to go in. Her hair fell from its elegant style the more she shook her head feverishly. "Come on!" he shouted once more, literally dragging her into the crazy mob.

"No!" she yelled, but her cries were unheard as he grabbed her hand and yanked her through the rough crowd. She was squeezed and squished, stumbling many times as she stood on other people's feet. Apologising did nothing to redeem her as her fellow students didn't even acknowledge her bumbling presence. Instead, she was still pulled by Cedric deeper and deeper into the throng of teenagers, her grip on his hand tightening phenomenally the deeper they pushed.

At last they came to a standstill, and yet, Hermione was still moving. She felt like she was running on the spot as she had to continuously place her feet in different spots. She was pushed up against Cedric, and he had his arm around her,  _protecting her_.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" she yelled into his ear, squeaking as she was pulled away from Cedric slightly. He grinned down at her.

"You don't have to!" And then he started to move. Hermione had never seen him so happy, and she felt privileged to be able to see this side of Cedric, yet guilty that it was her and not his date.  _Oh, who cares,_  Hermione thought as she laughed and started to join him,  _You only live once._

Hermione never thought she could have such a fun time; dancing, jumping, singing, head banging - everything she had never done before. So it was only due to sheer exhaustion that she yelled at Cedric she was leaving.

"I'll come!" he yelled halfway through some random lyric she had never heard of. She laughed loudly, although it was unheard under the music.

"No!" she shouted, grinning. "You stay and have fun!"

"What?" he yelled, trying to hear her. She shook her head, still laughing and quickly, before she could regret it, kissed him on the cheek. Waving, she pushed and shoved her way to the back, now an expert. Finally getting out, Hermione panted, looking back at the huge crowd of students having the time of their lives. She thought she saw Dumbledore trying to coax Professor McGonagall to join them, but was sure it was her imagination as she blinked and Dumbledore was smiling happily, looking to be humming along, and McGonagall was staring stonily ahead, looking sick of the loud music.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she went to find a place to sit and drink copious amounts of water. Finding a deserted table, she settled down for some much-needed rest.

"Hermione!" a voice yelled. She looked to see Harry, sweat plastering his black hair to his forehead, with an energetic, ever-so-beautiful Ginny beside him. "Don't tell me you've been here this whole time." he said as they neared, smiling.

"Ha-ha, Harry." she said sarcastically, her grin giving her away as she stood up to greet them. "No, even I was in there." She looked pointedly at the uncontrollable group. Harry laughed, and walked away to get a drink. Ginny took one look at Hermione and squealed, launching herself onto her. Hermione stumbled slightly, and Ginny let go.

"Thank you!" she squeaked restlessly. Hermione laughed.

"I didn't even do anything." she replied.

"You convinced me to make this worthwhile." Ginny explained. "Oh, and  _has_  it been worthwhile." she grinned. Hermione wondered what exactly she was implying, but was happy for her. Harry and Ginny truly did look like James and Lily, and even Hermione had to admit that connection was something undeniable.

"Tell me all about it." Hermione said, suddenly seeing Harry approaching them. "Tomorrow." she said sternly. Ginny nodded, and finally took the time to take in Hermione's appearance. Harry gave Ginny some punch and she thanked him.

"So who have  _you_  been with?" the younger girl inquired deviously. Hermione glared at her.

"Ginny." she said warningly.

"What?" Ginny replied innocently, taking a sip of her drink. Hermione continued to glare at her. It wasn't that she was afraid to admit she had been with Cedric, it was just Harry. He was like a protective older brother, and she knew that the last thing she wanted was some embarrassing confrontation between the two when her and Cedric were friends.  _Just friends,_ she tried to convince herself.

"Oh, don't mind me." Harry said sarcastically.

"Sorry Harry," Hermione said apologetically. "I was with Cedric." she paused, seeing Ginny's eyes widen slightly and Harry stiffen.

"Diggory?" Harry asked tersely. Hermione awaited the inevitable.

"Yes, Harry. Cedric. Is there something wrong?" Hermione knew Harry was probably too proud to admit to wanting to protect her, so she thought to silence him at this time would be better than an argument.

"Not at all." he replied shortly, taking a swig of his drink. Hermione smirked knowingly.

"That's so cool, Hermione." Ginny replied, ignoring Harry's mood. "I didn't know you guys were friends."

"Yeah, well." Hermione didn't really know how to respond to that one. No one knew they were friends, and yet here she was, parading around with him at the Yule Ball. It was kind of odd, she mused. But Hermione was done caring with what other people thought, so it didn't bother her so much.

Hermione spent the rest of her night dancing with Harry and Ginny, even bumping into Neville amongst the warm bodies.

"Neville?" she'd asked incredulously. He looked like a different person; hair tousled, eyes wide and alert, and moving confidently. Hermione never thought she'd see the day.

"Hey Hermione!" he'd said, and continued to move through the students and away from her. She had gaped for a moment before Ginny brought her back to the present.

It wasn't until midnight, when the Yule Ball had just finished, that Hermione's high took a turn for the worst.

"Ron!" she called across the Entrance Hall, expertly avoiding smashing into anyone as she wove around couples saying goodnight. She'd said a brief goodbye to Neville earlier, thankful that he had asked her.

The mop of red hair turned and, spotting her, started to briskly walk away.

"Ron!" Hermione called again, frowning as he continued to walk away. She caught up with him eventually, but they were now away from almost everyone else, save for a few walking to their respective common rooms.

"There you are! I've been looking for you." Hermione said, smiling.

"Have you?" he asked coldly.

She frowned at his tone, confused. "What's wrong?" she implored, tilting her head.

"You and Diggory, that's what."

Hermione was speechless. What could she say to that? What was Ron even talking about? She chose to stay silent.

"See? You know it yourself." Ron glanced at her, his eyes hard.

"Ron, what are you-" she never got to finish her question.

"I'd never picked you for one to fraternise with the enemy." Ron continued, still striding forward. Hermione stumbled over her dress, virtually mutilated after the suffering she had put it through tonight.

"The enemy?" Hermione asked, so very confused and tired. Ron stopped abruptly, turned to her, eyes flashing.

"Harry is in the tournament as well, Hermione. Or have you forgotten that fact?" he snapped.

Hermione caught on immediately.

"Excuse me, Ronald, but Harry seemed perfectly fine when I told him I had been with Cedric." Hermione said icily, sick of Ron's petulance.

"Really now? That's not what he told me." Hermione bristled at his mocking tone.

"You know, if you're jealous, you need to get over it." Hermione was normally not one to be so forward, but Ron's attitude had been grating at her for sometime now, and it was only a matter of time before she dropped all of her manners and snapped.  _And I'd been having such a nice evening,_  she sighed.

"Jealous?" Ron asked, shocked and spluttering. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Because everyone had fun tonight,  _except for you_." Hermione pointed out.

"I had fun." he said defensively. Hermione raised her eyebrows cynically.

"Oh really?" Hermione inquired sarcastically. "What did you do all night?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he was left stumped.

"That's what I thought." Hermione said smugly. "Stop being so jealous, Ron. It's not becoming of you." were Hermione last words before she walked ahead, very nearly sprinting to Gryffindor tower, leaving an embarrassed and stunned Ron behind her.

As Hermione sunk into her soft, inviting bed that night, she reflected that Ron had not particularly soured her mood, for she still felt Cedric's searing touches, and her lips remained tingling from kissing him on the cheek. When she closed her eyes, she saw his laughing face singing loudly to the music, and felt her stomach flip when he looked at her. Cedric was bringing out a new, fun-loving, carefree side of her.

And she liked it.


	6. Someone I'll Like

The next week or so passed by in a rather stupefied blur, like looking through fogged glass... or drunken eyes. She had only had glimpses of Cedric in the hallways and the Great Hall. She didn't have the courage, although she really should have given her house, to approach him at these times. He was always with Cho; eating, walking to class, sitting near the lake. Her presence was like a plague to Hermione. It smothered her, and she found her behaviour reverting back to that of the nerdy bookworm. So much so that she spent the majority of her time in the library, trying to forget the unforgettable Cedric burn, and her still-prickling lips while researching ways to rid of his handsome face in her dreams as well.

Before Hermione knew it, it was New Year's, and she was spending the last night of the year in the teeming common room, trying to find a shred of peace while she read up on her Seer abilities. She'd been approached by several tipsy Gryffindors, and declined every one of their advances in disgust. The idea of partying had never appealed to her, and their slurring words reinforced her opinion.

"Come on, baby, loosen up." the sixth year stumbled over nothing as his potent breath washed over her. Hermione didn't want to ponder the implications of 'loosening up', and instead scooted further away from the brown-haired boy on the couch, clutching her thick tome to her chest as he leered at her, eyes half-lidded. No one noticed them as the whole room was packed with students, all either laughing outrageously, playing drinking games, or snogging in a rather desolate corner. Hermione thought she saw a shock of red hair over by the portrait hole, accompanied by a familiar black messy mop. She snapped back to attention when she felt fingers graze her forearm. She saw goosebumps appear, and shivered in fear.

"Stay away from me." Hermione squeaked, not knowing what to do for what must have been the first time in her life. She crushed herself into the side of the couch, her book pressing painfully into her ribs.

"What are you doing?" came a cold voice. Although the room was very loud, this voice stood out amongst the noise, perfectly precise. Hermione looked up gratefully, only to see someone she would not have expected, even in her dizziest day dreams.

"Just havin' some fun." mumbled the boy next to her who seemed to think she had asked the question, and leaning closer as she bit her lip to hold in her whimper of fear. Hermione was embarrassed at her situation, feeling utterly helpless as she watched on. Her eyes darted to her saviour, expressing her anxiety to be rid of the bumbling sixth year looking her up and down in a disturbing manner.

"Get away from her." The voice demanded. A strong, muscled hand gripped the intoxicated boy's upper arm, yanking him back so he hit the hand rest, nearly toppling the couch over with the force. Hermione saw the grey eyes flash, and the couch creaked under the force of another push into it.

"And stay away." Hermione found herself trembling with the intensity of the words, although still thankful. She had never had this happen before, and had felt lost until he had decided to show his face. Knowing that had it been anyone else Hermione would not have felt nearly as safe, she ignored the fluttering in her chest, intent on getting out of this situation before it got worse.

The sixth year had obviously been rattled out of his dazed state and quickly bolted out of his seat as soon as the hand had released its bruising hold. His dark eyes connected with hers, and she found she couldn't look away, couldn't move at all as they smoldered, piercing into her soul. When Cedric looked at her, Hermione didn't feel his stare only on the surface of her skin; she felt it deep within her. When Cedric gazed at her as he was now, she knew he could see right through her skin, and into  _her._

It was very disconcerting.

"Are you alright?" he said softly, sitting next to her silently while the party raged on around them.

"Yes." Hermione breathed out, her eyes locked with his. Suddenly, she engulfed him in a crushing hug, and felt his hands come to her back after a few moments of reluctance. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent; soft honey mixed in with the smell of freshly mown grass, along with a faint hint of something woody. She gulped it in greedily, not wanting to let go. Hermione pulled away hesitantly, knowing that any longer and she would never have the strength to release him. She brought her hands to his cheeks, caressing them softly. He did not seem to mind the intimacy, smiling slightly as her fingers brushed his soft cheeks.

"Thank you." she said, tilting her head slightly to acknowledge him. He grinned in reply, and she felt the edges of his mouth touch her palms. Her stomach twisted with a feeling she couldn't identify.

"Hermione!" she turned, hands dropping as she tried to see the owner of the voice. Her red-headed best friend came into view, staggering after bashing into someone.

"Sorry, mate." Ron apologized roughly, and then his head turned to her. His gaze flickered to Cedric, and their rather close proximity. He saw her book, sitting forgotten next to her.

"Diggory." Ron regarded, stiff and hostile. Cedric's eyebrows rose in question.

"Weasley." he responded, as friendly as could be given their weak acquaintance.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, ignoring Cedric and landing his demanding stare on Hermione. However, Cedric's presence was very prominent from the corner of his eye, and he seemed to realise what he had just asked, deciding to re-phrase what he wanted to know.

"As in, what's the point in reading a huge fat textbook on New Year's Eve when really, you could be enjoying yourself?"

 _Typical,_  Hermione thought to herself, her stare turning icy as she looked at Ron,  _Ever so blunt and insensitive, has_ no _regard for my interests and what I want-_

"Maybe she  _is_  enjoying herself, Weasley?"

Hermione turned to Cedric in wonder. No one had ever stood up for her against Ron. Even Harry sided with him on most things, and everyone else thought her attitude ridiculous as well. No one had ever taken the time to realise that maybe knowledge was  _her_  thing, and that reading a thick novel quietly  _was_  her equivalent of a party.

 _Well, maybe not a party,_  Hermione reasoned, seeing Ron's open-mouthed shock as he stared at Cedric.  _But the analogy still has the same affect._

"Not everyone is the same. I'm not one for partying, myself." Cedric leveled his gaze on her, unmoving even as he continued to talk. "Have you ever thought that maybe her idea of enjoyment differs from yours?"

"Well," he spluttered, dumb-founded. "well – that just... you've completely missed the point."

"Have I?" Cedric questioned, turning his eyes to Ron, who stood there, face growing red with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Giving up, he stalked off into the crowd of Ravenclaws behind him, all of which made faces at his back due to his intrusion in their tight social circle.

"That was brilliant." Hermione beamed. It was like nothing about this boy was wrong.  _He's perfect,_  she thought, looking at him up and down quickly, trying to be subtle.  _In every sense of the word._

He laughed at her awed expression, relaxing back into the couch and stretching his arms around the back of the seat.

"It was just the truth." He stated casually as she picked her book up, her back to the head rest, facing him. Hermione was thankful she was wearing tights with her dress, or Cedric would be getting an interesting view. She tried to stop the blush that she could feel rushing to her cheeks at that thought. It escaped Cedric's notice that although she looked to be reading, her eyes were still, flickering up to him when he wasn't looking.

"So you actually don't like parties?" Hermione said, giving up her subtlety by looking up from the pages to his handsome, boyish face. She blushed at her question, knowing she sounded very presumptuous thinking that he would like them in the first place.

"Despite what most people would expect," he paused as her blush deepened, and grinned wildly, "not really. Of course, who doesn't like a bit of a party every now and then? But all the time? No way."

She smiled at him tentatively, relieved that she wasn't alone.

"Is it really that bad to be reading on New Year's?" she asked him, not afraid of his answer, but cringing nonetheless as she stared at her bare feet resting on a crimson pillow. She could take the truth from Cedric.

"No." he said. Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide. Cedric laughed loudly, attracting the attention of a few around them.

"Your face." He exclaimed, chuckling. He breathed in deeply to calm himself, Hermione staring at him, quite thunderstruck. "It's pretty bad." He concluded, tilting his head. Her expression changed almost instantly, and he found himself looking at a scowling fourth year.

"Lighten up, Granger." He said, nudging her with his elbow. She couldn't help but hear the similarities between 'lighten up' and 'loosen up'. She shivered. Pathetically, she knew she would probably comply to Cedric's wishes if he asked the latter.

 _You really are pathetic,_  that snarky voice twittered.  _What would Cedric think of such besotted behaviour?_

She ignored its mocking taunt, sighing as she closed her book and placed it on a table beside the couch.

"How do you propose I do that?" she inquired. All she received in return was the crooked smirk made just for her as he grabbed her hand and jerked her to her feet with him.

"With me." Cedric said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He then proceeded to push her into the middle of the common room, passing many of their peers along the way. A lot of them greeted Cedric, but she couldn't concentrate on their actual words because his hands were scorching on her shoulders, his breath behind her ear cold in contrast.

"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, trying desperately to keep her eyes from fluttering closed in contentment.

He didn't answer, instead choosing to stop in the middle of everyone. Hermione thought that the chances of her having a Notice-Me-Not charm placed on her were high, considering no one even glanced in their direction, even with Cedric's demanding presence.

"Alone." he whispered in her ear as he turned her around to face him. She couldn't help but notice how close his gloriously kissable lips were to her own, and had trouble keeping her eyes off of them.

"We're hardly alone, Cedric." Hermione admonished his poor observation skills, rolling her eyes at him. She knew if she looked up, his eyes would crinkle adorably.

"Maybe not, but no one will bother us in here." he gestured around them, although his left hand still stayed comfortably situated on her upper arm. "We're virtually invisible. Left to our own devices."

"And why would you want to be left to your own devices with  _me_?" Finally, the question she had been busting to get out since the Yule Ball. Indeed, why  _would_  Cedric Diggory want to spend time with Hermione Granger? No one knew, least of all Hermione.  _It's confusing. I feel like there's an ulterior motive._ Hermione mused.  _But what?_

"Because, Granger, you puzzle me." he stated. She noted that he hadn't stepped away from their close positioning. Her stomach tightened with an unknown feeling once more and she looked up at him. "Plus," he added nonchalantly, seeing that they had exactly one minute until the New Year. "You might just turn into someone I'll like in the next year."

She snorted in amusement, but he didn't miss the pretty blush that bloomed on her cheeks.  _Yes,_  he thought as he brushed his knuckles against the incredible warmth of her embarrassment, grinning. _She'll definitely turn into someone I'll like._

"Happy New Year, Granger."

 

\---

 

It was the first day of term, and Hermione was nearing Hagrid's hut, ready for the tiring Care Of Magical Creatures lesson that was sure to come. Her calves were wet with the snow, laid thick upon the grounds. As Harry, Ron and her trudged through the horrible conditions for such a hands-on subject, she did not see the lumbering figure at the door of the hut, nor the large, but small in comparison, greyhound that normally accompanied it. Where was Hagrid?

The substitute, Professor Grubbly-Plank, answered Harry's question.

"He is indisposed." Hermione nearly gawked at the curt answer. She turned at the sound of harsh, unpleasant laughter.

"He's just too ashamed to show his big ugly face." Malfoy spoke up, his cronies snickering annoyingly.

"That's enough, Mr Malfoy." the Professor disciplined, waiting for the last few stragglers before starting her lecture. "Today we'll be looking at unicorns. Follow me." She turned, and lead the way to the Beauxbaton horses, nearer to the Forest, stopping to wait for everyone to catch up, and then gesturing soundlessly behind her. It was then that Hermione saw one of the prettiest things in her life. Literally whiter than snow, a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered to a tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, grazing for anything but the snow that they were all standing on.

"Before I allow you to go near her, does anyone know anything about the unicorn?" Hermione's hand shot up. Her enthusiasm was marred by the cold weather, but she managed to attract the attention of the Professor away from Malfoy, who looked annoyed at her display of knowledge. Nothing new.

"The unicorn is a pure beast. Cursed are those who kill them, or those who feed off of them. The predators live a half-life." She summarised what she knew to be true, due to Harry's retelling in first year. "Furthermore, the unicorn prefers the touch of a female."

"Excellent, five points to Gryffindor." Hermione had seen the Professor glance at her robes before awarding the points.

"Unfortunately boys, you will be unable to touch her, so girls to the front. No matter what, approach with care. Just because they prefer your touch, doesn't mean they won't do something drastic if feeling threatened." the elderly witch lead the troupe of girls over to the unicorn, who threw back its horned head, happy for the attention of the admiring females. Hermione fell to the back of the group after saying her apologies to Harry and Ron. Leaving behind their spat with Malfoy, she turned her attention to the task at hand.

 _Right,_  she told herself.  _Touch the unicorn and leave._  She berated herself as she became the first in line, watching Lavendar Brown cooing over the gorgeous creature. Its horn looked very precarious, and Hermione had never been a horse person. So it was with reluctance that she stepped forward to stroke its mane, the Professor standing off to the side, supervising.

However, it did one thing she did not expect. Rearing, the unicorn neighed, breathing heavily as it angled its horn to her, pawing the ground in what appeared to be rage. Hermione stilled her advance, hand raised mid-air and eyes wide in fear. The unicorn fake-charged at her, and she jumped back. Why had she left her wand in her bag, which was currently sitting at Harry and Ron's feet?  _Great,_  she thought sarcastically.  _Hermione Granger: killed by a psycho unicorn. Just my luck._

"Whoa, there!" Professor Grubbly-Plank came to her rescue. She stood in front of Hermione, and the hostility of the beast disappeared immediately. The greying witch stepped forward gingerly to scratch the unicorn behind its ears, while it relaxed from its previously tense stance. Hermione's Professor turned to her in confusion.

"That's very odd, Miss..." she trailed off.

"Granger." Hermione supplied

"I have never seen that reaction to a female before." Professor Grubbly-Plank stated, frowning. "Did you do anything to provoke her?"

"I-I..." Hermione stuttered, gob-smacked. "I didn't do anything. I just stepped forward, it looked at me, and..." her Professor nodded in understanding.

"Very peculiar."

Hermione walked back to Harry and Ron, who were conversing in whispers and shooting Malfoy dirty looks, in a daze. She picked up her bag from their feet and slung it over her shoulder absentmindedly.

"Was it cool?" Ron asked her as Harry eyed up Malfoy from a distance.

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking her eyes back into focus.

"You touched it, right?" Ron asked slowly. His eyes narrowed at her continued blank expression.

"It didn't like me." She stated simply, waiting for the dismissal of the teacher, and they all walked to lunch when they got it.

"What do you mean 'it didn't like you'?" Ron asked indignantly, walking through the Entrance Hall.

Hermione turned to him as they both stopped outside the Great Hall. "Precisely that: it didn't like me, Ron, alright?" she snapped, walking past him to lunch. He stared after her.

"Mental, that one." he said to Harry, who nodded as they walked to the Gryffindor table together.

Hermione wasn't feeling particularly hungry after the lesson, and instead contemplated the weird behaviour of the unicorn in class. There had to be a deeper, more logical reason as to why it had an aversion to her. Unicorns liked females, so it ruled that out. She wasn't particularly horrendous to look at, so it wiped that out. She wasn't a dark witch, so that was out of the question.

 _Wait – dark?_  Hermione thought, shocked.  _Surely not._

Suddenly, one of the passages she read came back to her.

_Death Seers are often referred to as the Grim in human form._

_The Grim in human form?_  Hermione repeated to herself.

Alright, so unicorns hated her now, big deal. She could handle that. Just because they despised her ability, didn't mean it was personal to her. No, being an aversion to the whole unicorn species didn't mean anything.

But it didn't stop her from feeling a small sting. She was tainted; impure. No one would want her. Not Harry, not Ron.

Not Cedric.

 

\---

 

Trying to forget about her encounter with the unicorn on the first Monday of term proved to be very difficult. The pang she felt every time she even glimpsed a mop of permanently wind-blown blond-almost-brown hair was even harder to ignore. The whole Hagrid article by Rita Skeeter was just plain irritating.

To put it best: the week crawled by, and it was on the next Wednesday that she found some temporary relief. Just not in the way she had hoped for.

In second period Charms, they had been working on mood-altering spells. Hermione had, of course, picked it up almost instantly, with praise from her Professor.

"Oh, very good, Miss Granger!" the small Professor Flitwick squeaked.

However, others weren't so competent.

"Mr Finnigan,  _why_ is Mr Longbottom crying?"

"I don't know, sir." Seamus Finnigan said in his Irish drawl, staring at Neville as the boy bawled into his own sleeve.

Unfortunately for her, or really, fortunately given what would happen later, Hermione was hit with a wayward charm by the sniffling Neville who, in his distress, took no aim and no concentration when casting the spell.

The spell had hit its unintended target, and Hermione found herself unable to control her giggles for the rest of the day, to the utmost disgust Professor Snape, who they had straight after Charms.

"Miss Granger, stop your insolent twittering at once or  _everyone_  will get a zero!" he had snapped after a whole minute of laughter.

"She can't, sir." Ron had said, and Snape snapped his head to him. "She was hit with a mood-altering charm gone wrong last period. It won't wear off until tomorrow morning." Snape had growled, but begrudgingly accepted the situation. Nevertheless, he docked points every time Hermione's laughter rang too loud.

So it was with quiet giggles that Hermione made her way to the library after dinner for some much-needed dream research.

Trying so very hard to read through  _Dreams Of All Kinds_  by Elizabeth Elgor at her table in the corner, Hermione found it hard to stay still long enough to write down the main points. Giving up completely, she put down her quill and bit the arm of her chair to stifle the laughter bubbling up her throat and out of her mouth. Madam Pince sent her a withering glare from across the library, but Hermione could not stop the tears running down her face. She felt giddy, and her skin felt extremely sensitive. She felt as though the charm had heightened all her senses as well as making everything laughable. The sight of her shaking hands started another bout of insane giggles.

"What in Merlin's name is  _so funny_?" a voice asked, amused and not angry. She looked up from her curled up position in her chair to see the crooked smirk she knew so well. His hair was messier today, and after thoughts of running her hands through it, Hermione burst into laughter. She tried to explain, although she panted with the effort of getting out the words he needed to hear.

"Mood... altering – charm!" Her face ached with her grin, and she giggled once more before covering her mouth with her hand to repress the sound. Cedric walked over and sat down next to her.

"Are you even doing anything?" he said, laughing as he took in her messy scrawl and upturned book. Hermione couldn't help herself and the damn broke loose, bringing with it another round of snickering. She buried her head into Cedric's shoulder unconsciously, fisting his shirt to abate her sounds of glee. Cedric looked down in surprise.

Finally, after a very long couple of minutes, she found the restraint needed to calm down somewhat, and a small giggle came from her, before she stopped, still grinning to look up at Cedric. She met his stunned gaze, and if possible, grinned wider. He felt her shuffle forward, pressing herself closer to him. He gulped, but didn't think she noticed.

She spoke into his ear. "Hey, Cedric." A breathy giggle came forth.

His laugh was short, and a little nervous.

"Hermione." he replied. She drew back to look at him, and took his hair in her hands, pulling on his softly, mussing it up even more through her giggles. Confident, as was part of the spell's affect, she moved to straddle Cedric in his chair, and he raised his eyebrows, startled as he held her hips to stabilize her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice husky. She hushed him, hands still in hair, and situated herself more comfortably in his lap, still straddling him. She raised herself on her knees, pushing him back slowly. Cedric inhaled sharply. Hermione moved her face, and kissed his cheek tenderly, lingering.

"You don't want to do this." he warned, although  _he_  very much wanted to. Knowing her, though, he knew she would regret something like this when the spell's affects wore off, and she was normal again.

"Yes, I do." She giggled, and her breath blew across his face. He felt very flushed, and knew she could probably feel the beginnings of his hormones kicking in.

"You're not being very gentlemanly, are you?" she asked, giggling as she wiggled slightly. He held back a groan, forcing his fog-filled mind to clear. At this point in time, he really should have been thankful she had chosen a table in a secluded area.

His grip on her hips tightened.

"You need to stop." Cedric said, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears as she clenched and unclenched her fingers in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. It felt wonderful.

"Do I?" she giggled into his ear. Suddenly, she pulled back and kissed him full on the lips. Despite her giddiness, it was slow and soft, and just what she needed to abate the giggles some.

Cedric hadn't responded at first, disciplining himself even at the thought. It all crumbled, however, when Hermione pressed herself further into him and their chests touched. He couldn't take it anymore.

He pushed her back onto her backside as he took control of the kiss. It became fiery and passionate as soon as he did, and she pulled away a few long moments later, both of them panting, lips still very close.

"Well," Hermione said brightly. "That was nice." Then the laughter came, and Cedric didn't know why he had expected her to stop when they had kissed. She slid off his lap slowly, absorbed with her joy, clutching the armrests desperately, as if they would ease her amusement.

Cedric sighed in resignation. He knew he would have to deal with this situation when the spell wore off, and was dreading it. Images of Hermione yelling at him, telling him he took advantage of her and that she never wanted to talk to him again, flashed through his mind as he watched her eyes water with laughter in the chair next to him.

He'd deal with that when the time came.

For now, however, he would watch her with amusement, while trying to hide his obvious excitement in the process.

_Damn seductress._


	7. The Side Of Cedric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these chapter names are golden, haha.

"Just leave me alone, Cedric." Hermione snapped, trying to pack up her books that were strewn across the small library table. It was all in vain, as Cedric was just taking them back out of her bag and placing them on the table once more. Ever since the "incident" - as Hermione liked to label it - three days ago, she had been avoiding him like she tended to skirt around Draco Malfoy. Embarrassed beyond belief, Hermione didn't think she could handle talking about it at the moment, if at all. It was better left ignored, in her opinion. She was under the influence of a spell, for Merlin's sake! It wasn't like she was her normal self.

 _No, you weren't._  A voice agreed.  _But sometimes mood-altering charms can bring forth hidden feelings._

 _No,_  Hermione denied at once.  _You're wrong. Cedric is a friend, if even that._ She took a deep breath to calm herself. _My job is to save him,_ that's all _. I can't get attached._

 _If you're so adamant, then don't let yourself become friends._  Another voice said snidely.  _Make it clear what you want and then ignore him._

For once in what seemed to be her entire life, Hermione listened to the rather Slytherin side of her.

"Why are you doing this?" Cedric demanded, boring his eyes into hers. She knew he was trying to scare her into blurting out everything, but Hermione wasn't known as a know-it-all for nothing. She could see right through his attempts, and the truth of it all just made her more convinced of her decision.

Hermione glared right back.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore." she spat as hatefully as she possibly could. Saying that they couldn't be friends didn't seem right. Were they even friends? She supposed he thought, in some twisted way, that they were. She knew better. He wouldn't want to be friends with her if she was as popular as he was. What a kick, to spend time with someone as anti-social as Hermione.

"Why not?" he fired back, a frown on his chiselled face. Hermione chose not to acknowledge his good looks, instead turning her blazing eyes onto her books. She was still having no luck in getting them away from the Hufflepuff.

 _Insufferable,_  she thought, exasperated.

Knowing he wasn't going to let his precious entertainment go so easily, Hermione decided the best way was to say things directly, even if it meant distorting the truth a little.

"I don't like you. Go away." Hermione pronounced her words slowly, as if to let them sink into Cedric's brain. He drew back at the insult. Her guilt sparked, but she pushed the feeling to the back of her mind. There was no way she could back out of this now.

"You seemed to like me the last time we were here." Cedric stated, sounding confused but with an undertone of anger.

Hermione turned to him sharply, glaring.

"That was a mistake." she said darkly, finally managing to pull her bag out of his reach and therefore pack it properly. Never did Hermione want to think of her unforgivable actions again. They only brought her trouble, and so did Cedric. Going to walk around the table, and holding her bag loosely, she did not see his hand snatch her forearm, preventing her from her imminent escape. Hermione just wanted to leave as quickly as possible, so she could flee to the confines of her room. She hated acting this way.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Hermione was waiting for the line that she was sure he hoped would keep her in his presence. Her stubborn nature had never relented before, and so she was not surprised when she felt no sign of giving in.

"And why would that be?" his voice was precise, calculated. Hermione held back the shiver at the intensity of it. Blinking, she turned her head away, choosing to glare at the floor instead. She was unable to stop the slight flush that filled her cheeks. Her glare deepened. Her body betrayed what she was thinking, and ultimately ruined her chances at distancing herself from the tall boy before her. She mentally shook herself; she had to stay focused on the task at hand.

Lifting her head with a new determination, she felt like her eyes were on fire with the way she was staring him down. She did not blink.

Her lips formed around the words that he never expected to hear.

"It was lust, plain and simple. I feel nothing for you now, and I have never felt anything for you in the past. I cannot help that you are–" she paused, trying to remain unapproachable, but needing to get the words out. "–attractive. My body reacted before I knew what was happening. The charm didn't help matters in the slightest."

There was silence as her word-vomit finished, hanging in the air, waiting to be digested properly.

"So it meant nothing?" Cedric controlled the involuntary reaction to tighten his hold on her arm. His fingers felt stiff, and he did not want to let go of her just yet.

Hermione did not reply, instead choosing to avoid his gaze and try to remove her arm from his grasp, but Cedric no longer cared and submitted to his urge, nearly bruising her arm in the process.

"I can see you're different." he muttered rather disjointedly, narrowing his eyes. Hermione gave an internal sigh of relief. It would be moments now, and she could wallow in her own self-pity alone for the rest of the school year. She would be alone in everything she did from now on as she didn't expect her two best friends to aid her in any way. Harry had enough on his mind, and Ron was being his usual jealous self. How could they help her, anyway? ' _Oh yeah, by the way, I'm having dreams about Cedric Diggory dying, and that's why I've now chosen to stay from him so that if it does really happen, I won't be_ too _torn up about it.'_  She could just imagine their faces now.

 _Selfish!_  A voice erupted.  _You unbelievably selfish cow!_  It sounded desperate, cracking on the last insult. She fought to suppress the side with feelings for Cedric, and felt the boy himself had been waiting long enough for her to say something.

"You would be correct." Hermione stated frostily. Her gaze never wavered as she looked up at him. She knew she had to end it now, or he would never let her go. Blissful loneliness awaited her.

"Don't come near me again." she managed to stop herself from collapsing on the floor as he let go of her roughly, making her stumble back. She gave him one last false – to her – contemptuous glare before stalking toward the entrance, leaving Cedric behind. Hermione's face broke into a tortured expression when her back was turned, and was thankful no one was there to see her face.

She strode through the corridors, struggling with the weight of her tomes as she searched blindly for a distraction. Something to get her mind off the loving boy she had so willing abandoned.

 _Go back!_  someone screamed,  _Go back before it's too late!_

 _No,_  Hermione growled, gripping her bag tighter and twirling around in the middle of the corridor, frantically searching for something to ease the guilt, the worry, the love –  _the pain._

It was better this way, Hermione had convinced herself. What was the use in being his friend anyway? Sure, she had someone to talk to, and she guessed having him around eased things a little. He _was_  on her mind constantly; it made it a whole lot easier if she were talking to him at the same time. Cedric's presence gave her the reassurance that she was only thinking about him because she was his friend; because they were conversing. Now Hermione saw it as it truly was. Pure denial. Denial of her supposed fate, denial of Harry's entrance in the tournament, and denial of her faltering mental health.

She was feeding herself lies the longer she stayed in his company. Of  _course_  there was the denial, of  _course_  the escape from her worries… but there was also the feel that she belonged in a totally different world when she was with him. It was a world that she much preferred, and almost longed to live in permanently. It was Cedric's world, consisting of being able to maintain high grades while remaining respected and well-liked. It was the world that the inner fifteen year old girl in her wanted so desperately; to be popular.

Who was she kidding? Herself?  _Please_ , she knew that she would never step even a toe into that world. She was Hermione Granger, know-it-all muggle-born with little to no friends.

 _I have friends._  Hermione defended herself, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

 _No_ _,_  that disparaging voice chimed, making Hermione frown.  _Harry only started to hang around you because of his 'saving-people-thing', and Ron just uses you!_

 _T_ _hey_ are _my friends,_  she thought, vehement. _I've just helped them out of some tricky situations, that's why it seems that way._

 _You're just handy to have around,_  it spoke up again.  _Admit it._

Hermione chose not to respond, fed up of the many conflicting personalities of her mind. She sighed heavily before pushing her shoulders back and holding her head up, containing the someday-inevitable breakdown, instead choosing to make her way to the common room to relax. Hermione scoffed at herself. Relaxation was not a state of mind she was in very often these days.

Reaching the portrait hole, Hermione scoured through the large amount of information stored in her brain for the current password.

"Balderdash." she said finally, eyes half-lidded. Climbing through, and nearly stumbling with the weight of her bag, Hermione trudged her way to the large armchair by the fire – her favourite.

She dumped her bag on the floor, seeing half of its contents slip out but not caring to kick them back into their place. Hermione collapsed onto the furniture before her, her face cushioned by the soft pillow beneath her. She let herself be still for a moment, until groaning at the thought of _more_  research. Was that all she was doing now? Research, research, research.  _To hell with research!_

Hermione pulled out her book, unable to resist the thought that maybe this would be the time her questions would be answered. She snorted quietly, and was glad the third years playing a game of Wizards' chess near her did not hear.  _I truly do deserve to be alone._  Her own pessimism was obvious, but Hermione did not bother to scold herself for it.  _Am I a masochist?_

It was several hours later that Hermione realised, as her stomach started making strange noises, that she had forgotten dinner…  _again_. It was now nearing eleven and, no where near progressing, Hermione decided to call it a night. Her eyes bleary and now thankful, she blinked profusely before shoving her notes and books into the nearly-falling-apart black bag that she carried around with her everywhere. Ascending the stairs to the girls' dorms, and staggering into the fourth year room, Hermione thought of the future that was sure to come.

 _I can see it now,_  she mused bitterly, taking off her shoes and getting out her pyjamas from her trunk to change into.  _I will have fretted over this whole situation, and nothing will come of it. Both of them will_ not _go to a graveyard somehow, and Cedric_ won't _die. I'm just wasting my time._

But something told her that blowing this off was to be a tremendous mistake. Something told her that in doing so, she would not only endanger Cedric's life, but Harry's also. Something told her that if she were to ignore her Death Seer abilities, she would never be content with herself. Ultimately a selfish person at heart, as were most people, Hermione was afraid of this consequence. Something also told her – almost ordered her – that to do nothing, to understand nothing; it would certainly be her downfall. She would never be the same again. Her Cedric-side agreed with this something.

 _You can't let it happen. Ever_. It reinforced, panicking.  _Think of Cedric. This isn't about you, this is about everyone! One death, one incident – it can affect hundreds._  Hermione's brow furrowed as she climbed into bed and turned off her bedside light, having not contemplated this before.  _Cedric is popular, smart, loved; he's everything. You think him dying will just be that – dying? Nothing is that easy. You can stop this, you can prevent it. And yet you question that power? Cedric leaves a lot behind him, Hermione. Including you. You'd do well to remember that._

The voice spoke no more, and Hermione was speechless, laying there looking up at the ceiling. No longer was her Cedric-side a silly little schoolgirl with an absurd crush. No – it was something much worse; it was protective of Cedric, adamant for his survival–

It was falling in love with him.

And that was very, very bad.

 

\---

 

Friday; such a wonderful day in the tiny world of Hermione Granger, especially this particular last day of the school week. Even Professor Snape could not sour her mood in double Potions with the Slytherins that afternoon.

"Miss Granger,  _hold your tongue_." he had growled when her query had preceded his expectations.

"But sir, if you add the powdered ne–" she had tried to ask.

"Enough!"

Weekend: salvation, isolation, loneliness…

Perfect.

"I'll see you guys at dinner. I just have to check up on something quickly." Hermione explained to Harry and Ron outside the Potions classroom.

"You  _always_  have to check up on something, Hermione!" Ron whined. Harry's presence was the medium amongst the trio, and Hermione found herself rolling her eyes instead of retorting.

"When was the last time you actually  _had_ dinner?" Harry muttered. Hermione hoped she was not meant to hear because she chose not to answer, knowing her reply – "Last Friday." – would not be appreciated. She waved them goodbye over her shoulder, quickening her stride so she could avoid any bothersome students or roaming prefects; more specifically  _one_  prefect.

Her bag was virtually weightless today. Well, weightless compared to most days, when she thought her shoulder would dislocate at any second because of the strain.

Hermione walked through the doors to her place of redemption, sighing in relief at the soothing effect of the musty smell that hung in the air, and smiling to herself at the slight dust that covered the shelves no one looked at except the most studious Ravenclaws. She made her way past Madam Pince, giving a small wave in greeting. The librarian seemed to like Hermione, and Hermione alone. Hermione had never seen Madam Pince treat anyone the same way she treated her, and was eternally grateful. She was sure she would not find or acquire half the books she had read over the years if not for the stern lover-of-books.

Books never judged you, Hermione concluded. The Library was her place of solitude, but she very much liked it. It made her calm and cool-headed. It made her attentive and accurate with almost every answer.

But the books – oh, the books were everything. She had learned half her life lessons in their pages, and was ever so thankful for the knowledge they shared with her. Books were your friends, regardless of how intelligent you were, or who you hung out with. Books never gave you looks as if to say 'why are you talking to me?' either. Books were simply…  _there_. They were there whenever you needed them. Like true friends, books were always by your side.

It was a shame only Hermione seemed to discern this.

She brushed her fingers along the spines of the many tomes in this section –  _Arts Of Divination_. She was sure that many would question her presence in such an area of the extensive Hogwarts Library; Hermione was known for her disdain of such a subject and all its associative topics.

Her fingers caught on a ridged spine, slightly protruding from the perfect order of the other thick tomes. She snapped back to the task at hand, grasping the edges of the inky black book. It didn't budge. Frowning in confusion, Hermione tugged some more and it slid out somewhat. Encouraged, Hermione pulled her other hand up to help. However, the book slid back into place suddenly. Narrowing her eyes in determination, Hermione tried to wrench the mysterious book out of its position. Again, it hardly moved before shifting back into its spot.

_Are you a witch or not?_

Hermione whipped out her wand, thankful she had helped Harry with the first task.

"Accio black book!" she exclaimed, brandishing her wand. Unfortunately, she was not specific enough and all the black books in the bookcase came flying toward her. Hermione had little time to react to this barrage of ink on paper, and was flown onto the ground, groaning in pain as she moved a particularly heavy read off her chest.

"I did not think the book had a mind of its own." said a familiar voice, amused.

A bushy head of dark brown hair tilted up to see the smiling face of her Headmaster looking down, eyes twinkling lightly. Hermione blushed lightly, collecting the summoned books into a small pile on the floor and standing with the one she had desired in the first place.

"I apologise, Professor. I didn't realise someone else wanted the book." she said with little volume.

"That is quite alright, Miss Granger." he replied, smiling politely as always. His blue eyes pierced into her, and Hermione felt exposed. She chose to avoid his gaze. "I am curious, however, as to why a student such as yourself would be interested in that book." his long, thin hands gestured to the black book resting in her possession. Hermione, not expecting this, glanced at the cover.

 _Death Seers And Their Implications_.

This was her book.

"I-It's personal research, sir." She had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the school year. She could think nothing of her Headmaster's raised eyebrows and slightly squinted eyes.

_I have to have it. It'_ _s mine. Mine, mine, mine._

Hermione forgot to control her wide eyes and tightening hold on the book. Her mouth was slightly parted as she stared at the cover, the glimmering gold title her saviour from the ignorance that had plagued her for a long time.

"Would it be acceptable–"

"Oh, definitely, Professor!" Hermione blushed, realising she had interrupted her teacher. "Sorry, sir." she added in haste. His answering smile was light and pleased. She placed the book in his just-outstretched hand. Her Cedric-side was in full-swing, unbeknownst to her professor.

 _What are you doing?_ Hermione plastered a forced smile onto her face.  _You idiot! That held all the answers, all the answers to saving Cedric! We could be reading and summarising right now, and you go and_  give it away _? What is wrong with you?_

"If you could be quick, possibly, Professor." she requested hesitantly, afraid that she would be amended for her rudeness.

"Definitely, Miss Granger." he smiled, and Hermione thought she was imagining things when she saw a sudden tightness to his expression. "I guarantee you will be turning this book's pages by the next week."

But Hermione was not reading the, what was sure to be enlightening book by Sunday evening, her weekend wasted on Quidditch and homework, and  _not_  thinking about Cedric, not at all. She had been hoping to run into the leader of the school all weekend. She just wished she could go into his office and read over his shoulder, if it came to it. Hermione had never been particularly patient when learning, but this was slowly killing her. The answers, right there, and she'd let them run away from her. She regretted not listening to her Cedric-side now.

 _Learn from your mistakes and_ listen _to me next time._  Hermione wasn't sure she could promise something like that.

"You are  _coming_ , Hermione, and that is final." Harry said, dragging her by the arm to dinner.

"I'm not hungry, honestly!" she tried to convince him to let her go, but to no avail.

"Speak for yourself, woman; I'm starved." Ron grunted, ahead of the other two by about five paces. Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione's shoulders shook in silent laughter.

They were outside the doors to the Great Hall when Hermione pulled her arm out of Harry's grip.

"For Merlin's sake, I'm not going to run away!" she snapped at Harry, who looked at her as if she might do just that. Ron trotted through, eager for some food to fill his bottomless stomach. Hermione followed, Harry bringing the rear to make sure she would not run off. They sat at the Gryffindor table, and Hermione felt, oddly, like she was on display. Used to the confines of the Library, the common room, or her dorm, the Great Hall was open and loud.

At the pressure of Harry's glare, Hermione put some roast chicken and vegetables on her plate, filling her goblet with pumpkin juice. Sipping her drink to fool her friends, Hermione looked around the Hall, subconsciously seeking out some ruffled blonde hair. Her search was interrupted, however, at the mention of that same head of hair.

"So I reckon I have a chance now that Diggory's out of the way." Harry said, shoving some steak and kidney pie into his mouth as he contemplated how to take his chance. Hermione thought she saw Ginny turn her head toward their conversation.

"You're right, mate. Chang's going to love you now that Diggory's gone and pissed her off. You'll be the first she'll run to." Ron agreed through his mouthful of mashed potato and gravy. Used to this revolting habit, both Harry and Hermione were able to decipher what he was saying.

"Did Cho break up with Cedric, Harry?" Hermione inquired, ignoring the stuttering of her heart and the growing sweatiness of her hands. She gulped noiselessly, looking between her two best friends quickly.

Harry's gaze flickered toward her, answering just before gobbling up some more food so he would not have to expand on the situation, "The complete opposite."

"Yeah," Ron interjected, obviously not seeing the widening glare of his male friend from across the table, instead turning his head to look at Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry.

"It just 'wasn't working', apparently. Good riddance, I say! Now Harry can snag Cho and Diggory can stop stealing all the good ones." His eyes stayed on Hermione a moment longer before he dug once more into his meal.

"You can't 'steal' a girl,  _Ronald_. We are not possessions." Hermione seethed, gritting her teeth against the oncoming anger.  _Calm down, breathe,_  she consoled herself.  _He's an idiot._

"Yeah, well," the redhead paused, "You know what I mean. All the girls fancy him." he glared at the Hufflepuff on the other side of the Hall, the farthest table from Gryffindor. As if feeling the heated glare at the back of his head, Cedric turned and looked at Ron. His eyes roved over him quickly, though, and suddenly they connected with Hermione's. She forced herself to keep an indifferent expression, blank and unreadable. Cedric's dark grey eyes betrayed the anger shown on his face. Hermione thought she saw hurt flash through them before he turned back around to his friends, who all stared at her unsubtly. She turned back around, pushing her plate away from her in disgust. She stood up, bench screeching softly.

"Hermione, where are you–" Ron started.

"See you in the common room." Hermione blurted out, shifting her gaze to Cedric for the shortest moment, not noticing Harry had seen the sudden twitch of her eyes. Turning around, she very nearly bolted from the large room, intent on the seclusion of her dorm, not the common room she had promised.

Is this what it was always going to be like? Was he going to haunt her like this until her Cedric-side won over? It would never happen, of course, but the question still remained. Hermione didn't know how she could deal with his face every day, angry and bitter, yet hurt and subdued. It would drive her crazy. He was her own personal hell at this moment in time, and she didn't know how to snuff out his flames. They consumed her being.

It was a tug-of-war in her mind; to make amends, or not to make amends? He probably wouldn't take her back, anyway. The way she said it, it  _almost_  sounded like he was her boyfriend, taking her back even after she cheated on him.  _Almost._

It was just much, much worse.

The scorching heat devoured her once more.

Hermione didn't know what to do. It was entirely understandable, too.

_The answer is simple._

_Oh, here we go._  Hermione grumbled to herself, but her Cedric-side chose not to acknowledge it.

 _Save him,_  it continued. _Save him the way only you can._  Hermione waited for the staircase she was standing on to still.  _A life-debt is your only reprieve now._

Hermione sighed at her overly-dramatic self.

 _He'll forgive me in due time,_  she thought as she clambered into the common room.  _I just hope it doesn't take saving his life for it to happen._


	8. What Exactly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I basically took the chapter names from the songs I was using each chapter as 'inspiration'. Classic, considering I started writing fanfiction through songfic, haha. Remember songfic??

The weekend was as promised: lonely, boring, tedious.

"Harry, you need to sort out that egg!" Hermione exclaimed on Saturday afternoon, flicking through the pages of one of her long-forgotten useless books on dreams, hoping for some sort of miracle paragraph explaining everything. It would hopefully go something like this:  _Muggle-born witches can never, ever, in their entire lives be Death Seers. The idea itself is preposterous! So if they're having sinister dreams, it's just the product of their imagination gone wild. Means nothing. Don't bother._ Especially _if Cedric Diggory is involved._

"Just butt out of it, Hermione! I told you; I have until the end of February, I'll be fine." Harry replied angrily, playing Exploding Snap with Ron who had only one rather brownish eyebrow left.

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when it's the day before the task and you still don't know!" Hermione snapped, shutting her book noisily and pulling out her notes on the various sequences she had been seeing when in the land of the unconscious. There had to be something she was missing.  _Dumbledore still has that book,_  she thought grumpily.  _That's what I'm missing._

Harry rolled his eyes, placing a card down onto the ever-growing pile.

"What's with those?" he asked, turning from their game just in time to avoid a wayward card, newly singed. Hermione heard Ron's cry of pain, followed by raucous laughter from across the room. She looked up at her best friend from under her untameable mane of hair, especially bushy today.

"With what?" she replied innocently, eyes unable to resist the temptation for answers. How could Harry and Cedric  _both_  be in a graveyard? Why were they even in a place for resting the dead? Was it part of the task to come?

"Those… papers. You carry them around with you everywhere." Harry noted, smiling but with a slight frown on his face, clearly confused.

"Oh. These?" Hermione waved what she was holding; hoping to Merlin Harry wouldn't notice her slight panic. "These are nothing! Nothing at all. Why would you think they were something?" she asked, her voice quaking slightly.  _Don't ask questions, don't ask questions._

"I don't know. The way you treat them – it's like you think they hold all the answers or something." He placed a card down on the deck, slapping his hand down straight away. Ron groaned, only ten or so cards left. "It was just a question." Harry added, seeing the shocked look on her face.

Hermione stared at him for another moment, mouth slightly parted. He was much more perceptive than she gave him credit for. She really had to work on the secrecy thing. A bit shaken, Hermione returned to her notes.

 _So they always end in him dying; there's always a flash of green – definitely the killing curse;_ _Peter Pettigrew is constantly present; I always see it from Harry's perspective._  Hermione thought for a moment, wracking her brain for some sort of brilliant conclusion.  _This means something, I know it does. Just what is it?_

"I'm going to the library." Hermione stated, packing up her things and hauling the bag onto her shoulder. The library would have the answers – it always did.

Bidding the two boys farewell, and making her way past Fred and George Weasley teasing some poor first year by the portrait hole, Hermione walked out into the corridor. Sighing to herself, finally alone, she took her time so she could think things out.

"There is some really big loophole I'm missing." she muttered, looking down at her scuffed shoes as if they would give her some insight.

"Oomph!" Hermione was knocked down; books sprawled all over the place, legs tangled up in her robes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see–" it stopped short, very abrupt, and Hermione looked up from under her out-of-ponytail bangs.

The one and only.

Hermione sat up slowly, dragging and pulling her books toward her so she could place them in her bag and continue on her way.

It was never that easy.

His hands came out to help her with her books, and soon she was standing opposite him, winded, clothes crinkled, and trying to find a desperate escape.

 _Just walk away,_  the sly voice said.  _You have no reason to talk to him._

Deciding to do just that, Hermione brushed past him, his shoulder taking some of the impact.

"So it's going to be like that, is it?" he called out at her retreating figure. She paused mid-step before regaining her pace. Acknowledging him would only encourage the boy. No, what it was going to be like was better left unsaid. Breathing deeply, she tried to calm down her electrifying nerves.

"I have to ask myself, you know," he said, "what exactly are you thinking?" That stopped her. "You leave me in the library, no explanation at all as to why you hate me all of a sudden." he continued, spurred on by her lack of progress down the hall. "You hate me, I get it. But why?"

"Does it matter?" she whirled around, angered not by him, but by herself. Her emotions were conveniently placed on him. Hermione stalked closer to him and his expectant expression.

"Isn't it enough for you to torture me?" Hermione spouted, immediately regretting it.  _Stupid!_

"Torture you?" Cedric said exasperatedly, almost laughing at the absurdity of her question. " _Me_ , torture  _you_?" he laughed this time, but it was cold and did not give her the warmth it usually did. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Hermione remained still, arms by her side, fists clenched, teeth gritted.

"Every time I look at you; every time I pass you in the corridors, every time I see you at breakfast, every time I eye you working your arse off in the library – now  _that's_  torture." Cedric spat, twisting his face into a snarl. Hermione had never seen this part of him before, and to say she was scared would be lying. She never knew he could be so… bitter.

"I've barely had the thought to talk to you, demand you explain things, because when I glimpse even a lock of your hair, my throat closes up. It fills up with small pieces of shattered glass, slowly slicing until I have to swallow the blood and look away. I can never breathe." Cedric stared intently into her eyes, only breaking away at the end of his speech to rub his hands over his face.

Hermione's mind was reeling.  _This can't be happening. You're not his friend. You're not going to be his friend. Walk away. Don't ruin everything. Ignore his lies._ The Slytherin in her did not like Cedric at all.

 _Lies?_ Her Cedric-side countered.  _Ignore his attempt to be your friend again? Ignore his attempt to help you return to normalcy?_

 _SHUT UP!_  Hermione screamed to both of them. There was finally silence.

"Stop being melodramatic. I mean nothing to you and we both know it." she snapped. What was the use in hiding her motives now? Not when he was so close. So close to figuring her out, so close to  _her_.

"Oh, so it's a self-conscious thing?" Cedric retorted, almost sarcastic in his tone. Hermione bristled. "Who knew sixteen year old girls were so petty?"

"It has nothing to do with that!" she nearly shouted, urgent to get her point across. If there was one thing Hermione Granger was good at, it was making a point. Unfortunately, her point-making was attracting a small crowd.

"Is that  _Hermione Granger_? With  _Cedric Diggory_?"

"When did  _that_  happen?"

The whispers were surrounding them, making her ears itch and her insides squirm.

She lowered her voice, "Give up, Cedric." Blinking back her tears, she quickly glanced at the people around them, and saw Ron quickly approaching. With all said and done, she walked away, finally able to continue her journey to the library.

Her thoughts were trying to focus on one thing at a time, but she felt that familiar buzz of an unknown answer plaguing her mind. Cedric and her were bound to go picking through the grapevine and then dumped in the gossip mill for all to see. Somehow she didn't think they'd be able to keep their pickings; and somehow she didn't think they'd come out sopping wet, either.

 _Things just keep getting_ _better,_  she concluded sarcastically. Tormented with her ability, her dreams, her ex-friends, and her Headmaster's possession of one lonesome book, Hermione felt overloaded.  _Good thing I'm going to the library,_  she thought.  _Time to forget._

But no matter how much she tried to calm, to breathe, and to become nothing, one thing kept replaying in her head. One question that had a lot of answers; one question she would be able to resolve under any usual circumstance.

" _What exactly are you thinking?"_

Hermione didn't really know.

 

\---

 

It was on Tuesday during History of Magic that she was pulled from her stupor.

"Cuthbert," a gentle voice came from the doorway of the classroom. Hermione was thankful for the interruption. It must have been the first lesson she had ever sat that she had nearly fallen asleep. She had found her enthusiasm for school and all its teachings had squandered along with her emotional capacity. It was much easier to let things slide over the top of her head. Instead of taking things in, Hermione just sat there, listening to the facts but not reacting. There was no use. It wouldn't do anyone any good to show them what she was feeling. She was feeling nothing.

The monotonous ghost seemed shocked to have the Headmaster interrupt his normally precise and ordinary lesson plan of lecture, lecture, and, you guessed it; lecture.

"Albus." He said, as though reading from a carton of milk about its percentage of calcium.

"May I request that Miss Granger follow me to my office?" the elderly professor asked kindly, his eyes squinting with his small smile. His eyes flickered over the half-asleep student body of the classroom, his eyes laughing at the state of Vincent Crabbe; snoring quietly, head on the desk, arms hanging.

"Miss Granger, you are dismissed." said the ghost, turning back to the notes he had taken the effort to ask Professor Sprout to write up for him.

Hermione packed away her unused quill and ink, stuffing her parchment in her open book and putting all of them into her school bag.

"I'll see you guys later." she whispered to Harry and Ron, but they weren't listening. They weren't even conscious.

Making her way nervously over to her Headmaster, he gestured for her to exit first, and as she walked past him, she got the distinct feeling the matters he obviously wished to discuss with her were not for eavesdropping ears.

"To my office, I should think." he stated happily. Dumbledore led the way as she trailed behind, stumbling slightly at the contrast to her zombie dream and reality. Everything was so much  _clearer._ Her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, and Hermione had to touch them to make sure they were the opposite. Her eyes prickled as they finally got their wish to focus on something, _anything,_  and her fingertips felt alive as she stroked the strap of her bag.

As they entered the elaborately decorated office, objects spindling and spiralling, Hermione realised Dumbledore probably hadn't had to provide the password.  _He_ is _the Headmaster, after all._

"Please, take a seat, Miss Granger." Dumbledore suggested. It sounded more like an order, however, and so she complied, seating herself on what she assumed was meant to be soft chair. It felt like gravel as the weight of what her professor was bound to want to question her on pushed down on her.

"I have no doubt that you have concluded why I have asked to speak with you, Hermione." The use of her first name did not go unnoticed by her as Dumbledore sat, leaning forward on the desk as his hands came together.

There was silence, and it was not for another moment that Hermione realised he expected her to reply.

"It's about the book, sir." Hermione said nimbly, looking into the Headmaster's eyes for the first time. "Am I right?"

He smiled a smile that did not reassure her like she was sure it was meant to.

"You are correct." he said cheerfully. Hermione was not cheerful. She looked on with a blank expression, waiting for the inevitable.

"I apologise for not returning the book you so wanted to read yesterday. I came across something very peculiar." Hermione knew he was baiting her, but she decided to play along anyway.

"Sir?" she asked, although the tone of her voice was bored and uninterested. Dumbledore ignored it.

"Professor McGonagall has been telling me of your decreasing attention span in her classes and unusual blank behaviour." Hermione chose not to answer, instead staring at the brilliant bright and red phoenix sitting on the stand behind Dumbledore's chair.

"Professor Snape says you have not been your normal self." Hermione nearly scoffed at the idea of what Snape's idea of her being normal was. Probably the annoying know-it-all he had come to hate.  _"Miss Granger is not responding to my verbal attacks; it is most different and unwelcome!"_   _As if Snape gives a damn about whether or not I'm normal,_  Hermione thought.

"Your marks are not as good as I have seen in the past." Dumbledore said. Really, Hermione was just getting bored now. She wasn't her normal self, her marks were dwindling even though she got over ninety percent in all her class tests, and she had a decreasing attention span;  _blah, blah, blah…_

"I believe you and a certain Mr Diggory had a rather outspoken discussion the other day?" Hermione froze. Certainly he couldn't know, definitely not. So why was he asking?

"Ahh, I see."

 _No, you don't see._  Hermione snapped.  _How could you? You don't know me._

"Hermione, I am sure Mr Diggory will come around." Who was he to act like he knew? Who was he to act like he  _understood_?

"He won't." Hermione said dully.

"Oh, don't be such a pessimist, my dear. All spats will be forgotten eventually. Friends more than likely stay friends at Hogwarts." He was still oblivious, and Hermione was pondering on whether to tell him or not. It might make things more complicated… but she was sure that if the Headmaster knew the real story, he would be quick to correct other. Or at least, she hoped.

"We're not friends, Professor." Hermione stated, controlling her tone so she would not sound disappointed.

"Oh?" Dumbledore inquired politely, tilting his head to the side as if to analyse her and her thoughts _. Fat chance,_  Hermione thought, determinedly looking at a strange gold contraption on the left hand side of his mahogany desk. She stayed silent.

"It does not do well to dwell on the past, Miss Granger." he advised, and his voice sounded far from jolly. Hermione looked up in partial shock. "Nor the future." He added when their eyes met. She could not stop her eyes from widening or her stomach from clenching in fear.  _It's not true,_  she thought.  _You can't know._

There was a moment of silence before either spoke, "Well, I think I ought to give you your book back." Dumbledore said lightly, smiling and eyes twinkling. He reached into the drawer on his left-hand side of his desk, pulling out the black book, its gold lettering glinting slightly in the late morning sun shining through the window. Hermione felt like the light spotlighted the small book, as it was the only thing she could see. If she didn't know her eyes were thankful for their renewed use before, she knew they were thankful now.

It rested in his thin, white hands, and made no movement to come to her. She lifted her head.

"If I may ask, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said, piercing through her with his gaze. She blinked. "What personal research is needed for the possession of  _this_  particular book?"

Hermione wasn't really expecting that. In fact, she felt very inclined to answer with  _'The personal kind.'_ , but restrained herself. He wanted to know what she needed it for. Well, she couldn't tell him as she was sure he would carry her off to the Hospital Wing, or even St Mungo's when he found out. No, this was  _her_  secret. And she intended for it to stay that way for quite a while yet.

"Just a matter of interest, Professor. Why?" Hermione replied, and thought it was time to turn the tables. His answer was what she had expected.

"Simply curious." He stated, smiling. Hermione pretended not to notice the suspiciousness carefully covered up on his face. "Well," he said, smiling widely. "I seem to have taken up your History of Magic lesson, but I believe you're just in time for break." He stood, signalling the end of their conversation. Hermione stood as well, expression casual as she gathered her book bag from the floor and walking toward the door with her professor following. She stepped out onto the top of the staircase, waiting. He smiled at her, waiting. She bit her lip, waiting. He tilted his head, waiting.

"The book, sir?" Hermione prodded.  _Thought he could make me forget. Ridiculous. As if I could forget_ that, she ranted to herself.

"Oh, of course! I am sorry, Miss Granger." He said, smile only noticeably tight to his student as he pulled the book from his robes.

When her fingers brushed the book, Hermione's excitement increased tenfold, and she finally felt anything  _but_  dead. Her eyes sparked, and she did not see the analysing look her Professor gave her. She tightened her grasp on the black leather binding, nearly wrenching it to her. Her hands covered it as she held it to her chest.

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione farewelled, turning quickly and almost bounding down the spiral staircase that ascended to the Headmaster's office.

"Thank  _you_ , Hermione."

 

\---

 

It was to Hermione's uttermost despair that she did not have a chance to even touch the book that held all her answers over the next couple of days. She kept it in her bag at all times, safely wedged between her Christmas present from Ron, and her thick Transfiguration textbook, which conveniently never left its place.

Only on Thursday night did Hermione even have the time to think about reading the black book. Between trying to pester Harry into working on his egg, fighting with Ron, completing all her homework and assignments and avoiding Cedric at all costs, she was thoroughly exhausted and almost felt like forgetting the book and simply collapsing on her bed.

 _If you do that, you'll never get to it_ _,_ her Cedric-side argued sternly.

And it was right. Hermione knew that Friday, bearing double Potions, it would be near impossible, and Saturday was Hogsmeade. Sunday she would be dedicating to her horribly large Ancient Runes translation that she would normally take joy in; now was not that time. Then the week would start over, and she would be incredibly busy trying to do everything, but forget it all at the same time. The chaos never ended.

During dinner, which she had taken to eating again during her nothing state, Hermione made the mistake of sitting between the two boys who were talking adamantly about Quidditch, something they missed sorely, and all thanks to the Triwizard Tournament.

"Quidditch is much better than this stupid tournament." Harry stated, and Ron nodded, agreeing through his mouthful of food.

Once finished, the redhead put in his own two knuts, "You don't have to practise, though. That must be a plus. All those extra evenings."

"True that." Harry looked surprised that such a thought came from Ron, but then realised the boy was probably thinking about all the extra time Harry could have to play chess, and didn't feel so shocked.

"Hey, Hermione, you don't say you have your Transfiguration book with you, do you?" Harry asked, looking at her bag. He grabbed her bag from her side, pulling it into his lap as he rummaged through it.

"Yes, I do. Why?" Hermione replied slowly, sipping from her pumpkin juice-filled goblet.

"I lost mine; could I use yours for the essay McGonagall set us this morning? I'm  _definitely_  going to need it." he stated unhappily, cringing at the thought of the three-foot essay on the ethics of cross-species transfiguration.

"Sure, go ahead."

Climbing up the staircase outside the Great Hall after dinner, Hermione virtually ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor common room, eager for the answers even knowing she would get more questions.

As she was waiting for the staircase she desired to move back to where she stood at the top of another staircase, Hermione's bag split down the bottom randomly.

"Shoot." she muttered, watching her books fall out loudly, some sliding down the stairs. Her eyes followed the sixth year Charms textbook Ron had given her come to a stop at a pair of dusty black school shoes. Looking up from the person's feet, Hermione saw a Hufflepuff crest on the breast pocket, her curiosity quickly turning to horror.

His smooth, masculine hand grasped the book at his feet, keeping their eye contact. He walked up the stairs, picking up stray books, and finally arrived within a metre of her. She cleared her throat, blinking back the angry tears at his appearance.  _I will not fall apart._

"Thank you." she croaked. He continued to stare at her, unnerved, and placed the books back into her bag, his hands brushing her hip slightly. Hermione gulped.

"I'm not giving up, Granger." he said, not distancing himself from her after he had finished putting her books into her bag.

It was at that moment that the staircase she had been waiting for slid into place behind her, causing Hermione to turn her head. She took a step back, gave Cedric one last fleeting glance, before taking the stairs two at a time in her haste.

He looked at her exiting form for a moment, before moving pulling a small black book from the inside of his black Hogwarts' robes. He glanced at the smooth leather cover, gold letters glinting menacingly.

_Death Seers And Their Implications_ _._

Cedric frowned.

_What exactly are you thinking, Hermione Granger?_

Shaking his head to rid himself of the contaminating thoughts, he turned around to walk to the kitchens, then intent on going to the Hufflepuff common room.

He had a night of reading ahead of him.


	9. I Found You

Cedric Diggory decided that he didn't like the way things were going.

Especially now.

Especially when those things involved Hermione Granger.

So why was he doing this, again?

The black book sat in front of him, on his desk, from all those nights ago when he'd stolen it from right under the Gryffindor's nose. And yet, it had taken him this long to even contemplate trying to read it? What was wrong with him?

Okay, maybe that wasn't the right question to ask. Cedric knew perfectly well what was wrong with him.

_Suffering from a mix of nightmares and rather pleasant dreams, the struggle of juggling school and a little thing called the Triwizard Tournament, while also having to uphold my reputation of all-round nice guy… that's not what I'd like to call normal. Or easy, for that matter._

In a nutshell, Cedric thought he was bloody-well screwed. Or, as his mother preferred…

"Too lazy to do anything about it."

Cedric, such a fine young man in the halls of Hogwarts, would be thought of as anything but lazy. Hair always conveniently mussed, eyes bright, and robes ironed; homework finished, assignments handed in, and excellent marks in exams – Cedric was perfect.

Uh uh. Wrong.

Cedric was a pervert. A pretty dirty one, at that. He also happened to be incredibly lazy, a bit of a pushover, and easily fooled by the opposite sex.

But never did he give up.

… So why was he doing this, again?

Oh, that's right –  _Hermione Granger_ , the bane of his existence; the intolerable, but knowledgeable, Gryffindor fourth year who served to crawl under his skin and frustrate him to no end.

She also happened to get his hormones going… but that wasn't the point.

The  _point_  was that Cedric had no idea what to think of her. She was a puzzle. She was a mystery. And one that Cedric, Hogwarts' resident Sherlock Holmes, wanted to solve. If he was to have any luck with this mission, stealing her possessions was the way to go. Which he'd done quite stealthily, if it can be said for a Hufflepuff.

_Death Seers And Their Implications._

What kind of a title was that, anyway?

He read the first page. Fairly interested, he read the next.

By dinner time he'd read half the book, intent on finishing it by the next morning.

When he'd be facing the lake and it's local Giant Squid for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Oh yeah, Cedric Diggory also had impeccable timing.

 

\---

 

"Harry, I can't believe this."

"You've said that four times already."

The three fourth years were sitting in the library, pouring over several books, all of which focused on water.

Well, it was more like the redheaded boy was sleeping, the black-haired playing with his glasses, and the girl with wild curls was actually the one doing the reading. But that's pretty much the same as all three researching, so no one was worried.

"Why? For the love of Merlin,  _why_? You just  _had_  to leave it until the last minute, didn't you?" her whisper-shriek was heard from across the study table. She started flipping through the old book resting on the table before her.

"Yes, Hermione. I deliberately left it until the day before the task, just to see you squirm." Harry looked up at one of his best friends, the other snoring quietly beside him. "I was stupid, I know. But beating myself up about it now isn't going to help."

"I know, it's just-" Hermione paused, closing her eyes briefly. She frowned to herself. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Maybe it was the fact she'd thrown herself into her school work as a distraction, or the realisation that Harry was, in fact, bloody-well screwed.

Or, as her mother preferred…

"Too lazy to do anything about it."

Maybe it was the fact that Cedric Diggory wasn't paying her the least bit of attention.

No matter. She hated him, anyway.

"Hermione?" Harry questioned. She felt his palm on her forearm, tugging her hand away from her face. It was not the insistence of a lover, nor a friend. He was family. "Maybe you should take a break." He suggested gently. Hermione shook her head weakly, but built confidence to break into a full-on relentless shake.

"No. No, I can't. We have to figure this out." She shook her head warily, opening her eyes to scan through the pages of the book once more. "We're  _so_  close. I can feel it. Maybe Nev-"

"Granger!"

Hermione whipped around at the voices, hair flying everywhere, evidently whacking Ron in the face and arousing him from his nap.

"Wha happ'n'in'?" he mumbled, red hair sticking up in all sorts of directions.

"Why are you two here?" Hermione demanded, but sighed lightly in defeat. Looking at the clock on the wall of the library, she addressed the two boys again. "And so late?"

The twins grinned, sharing a look.

"Well, Granger-"

"We didn't know you were so interested-"

"In our nightly escapades."

"However, you're-"

"Welcome to join us anytime you like."

Hermione glared at them. The Weasley Twins and their sexual innuendos; she didn't think she'd ever hear the end of them.

 _I feel sorry for their future wives…_  Hermione thought with a grimace.

"Nah, we're just pulling your leg, Hermione!" said the left one. Hermione had given up name identification with these boys long ago.

"Yeah, McGonagall told us to get you." added the twin on the right.

"McGonagall?" Hermione asked, confused. What could the Transfiguration Professor possibly want with her now? At ten thirty on the evening before the second task, no less?

"Yep." They both said.

"Just me?" Hermione said in doubt, glancing at Harry. Where she was wanted, so was he, most likely.

"Nope, she wants Ronniekins here, too."

Ron and her. Ron and Hermione. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Wanted… for something that doesn't involve Harry Potter?

_Oh, I see…_

Hermione sighed, marking her pages in the multiple books spread across the table.

"Harry, take all these back to the common room. I'm sure this won't take too long… but keep looking anyway. Don't stop until you find something." She tried to look intimidating, but only succeeded in making Harry mildly amused and the twins slightly confused.

It had to do with the second task, she knew that. But honestly… why was she needed? Did they think she knew of the locations of Harry's prized possessions?

She knew where his Firebolt was, but that was about it.

Hermione was in for quite the surprise.

 

_\---_

 

_Where is that wretched girl?_

Cedric paced quietly in his swimming trunks, wand steady in his hand. He surveyed the crowd, almost complete save for the stragglers from this morning's breakfast. Something he hadn't participated in, for fear of puking it up all over Cho Chang, the girl who couldn't take 'no' for an answer because she still sat next to him every breakfast.

If he didn't see her soon he was going to spontaneously combust or…  _something_.

He was also pretty sure denial was so much easier to deal with.

"Potter!" he exclaimed as the skinny boy came into view, panting and still in his school uniform. What was he doing? No time for questions. Except for one.

"Where is she?" he said, coming closer and seeing some sort of slimy green substance in the fourth year's hands. He really didn't want to know.

"Who?" Harry rasped, looking at the substance with the same disgust as Cedric. Good. He wasn't the only one.

"Granger – where is she?" Cedric demanded, his need growing. This was when he was going to break it to her, one way or another. He knew. He knew everything.

She wasn't going to run away from him anymore. He'd follow her all over the grounds if he'd have to. He'd find her, that was for sure.

"I don't know!" Harry said defensively, looking at Cedric incredulously. Merlin, he already knew he was a pervert, no need to rub it in. Moving on. "She and Ron didn't come back to the common room last night after seeing McGonagall. I have no idea where they are!"

The boy looked on the verge of hysteria, and Cedric didn't want to get involved with that and so moved away. Potter would be his concern later.

"Come on," he muttered to himself, scouring the audience for that familiar head of wild brown hair. "Come on!"

The noise died down, and Cedric looked around for the source. He saw Ludo Bagman standing at the judges' table, wand at throat, yelling something decipherable from where he was standing only if he strained his ears…

"… precisely one hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…  _three_!"

_Wait, what?_

Krum and Fleur jumped in, leaving Cedric and Harry on the edge of the lake. There was a moment's pause and then Cedric jumped into the icy depths, seeing Harry taking off his shoes before he was encased in murky water. Coming up for air, Cedric quickly cast the Bubble-Head charm, something he'd been practicing for weeks. Successful, he emerged himself in the lake once more, swimming as fast as his Quidditch-body would go. He swam down, and further down, until it was almost dark.

_It has to be on the bottom. The prize, the goal… it'll be hard to find, and maybe guarded by mermaids. Maybe…_

But that thought was lost as a Grindylow attached itself to Cedric's leg. It was only one, but Cedric could already tell it was going to be a long hour.

For the most part, Cedric felt he wasn't really doing anything. Swimming aimlessly didn't seem very productive, and he'd seen no signs of the other Champions. He didn't care for a prize, so what was he doing swimming around the Lake with a Giant Squid most likely on his tail, ready to attack him, unawares?

If he'd known what his prize was, he would be kicking himself for the doubt. For it was at that moment that he heard something… something ethereal. It was singing. But it wasn't English being sung. Or any other language he'd heard in his life. It was a pleasant screeching – if that even made sense – that was very captivating. Cedric felt a strange pull in the direction of the music, and followed his instinct.

He came upon a ruin. The large pillars, once white, now covered in moss and algae, stained by the suddenly clearer water. A school of fish swam by him, seemingly oblivious to the great temple in front of him. Large bits of now grey stone blocked his path as he swam towards the sounds.

Cedric didn't understand. He couldn't get to the singing. A large abandoned underwater building was blocking his way. Then he remembered that underwater, the rules of muggle physics didn't really apply, and so he swam up and over the great temple, side-swimming large pillars that had obviously fallen from their original positions.

What he saw stunned him. Hundreds of mermaids, scattered all over what looked to be some sort of city; the rest of the ruins, inhabited by the Black Lake's mermaids. Of the 'roads' closest to him, a large statue sat in the centre, surrounded by seaweed and algae. Four people were tied to the statue with what looked to be a green weed.

"The prize." he whispered to himself. Kicking faster now, Cedric propelled himself to the statue, wand tight in hand and eyes narrowed in determination.

He saw Harry, fighting to take two prizes.

 _That's not fair_ , thought Cedric.  _We're to all take one._

On closer inspection, he could see why Harry looked so worried.

"You take your own hostage…" said a raspy voice. Cedric snapped his head to see a rather unfortunate looking merman, holding a spear. "Leave the others…"

Cedric could see Harry about to protest but, not liking the look of the spears surrounding both of them now, he interrupted him.

"Harry!" he yelled, trying to get through his Bubble-Head charm. The boy turned around so suddenly Cedric was afraid he'd hurt himself.

"You alright?" he yelled once more, frowning at the conflict between him and the merman. Harry nodded jerkily.

That done, Cedric swam over to the statue, the obvious cause of Harry's worry.

 _So that's where you've been,_  Cedric thought.  _Hiding… again._

Hermione was tethered with a slimy green weed to the statue, along with three others. One of which Cedric recognized as Ron Weasley, the insensitive git but best friend of Hermione who'd insulted her on New Year's Eve.

"You've got to be kidding me." he said to himself. A  _human_  was the prize? He knew Dumbledore was a bit out of it, but  _Merlin_.

Her normally frizzy, wild hair; something he found endearing; was floating around her like a halo, almost obscuring her face totally. But he would know that hair anywhere.

She looked asleep. Her face was peaceful; no frown lines present, and no glare permanently encased within her eyes. Cedric felt a slight rush of relief. To be free of the Hermione burden was truly a weight off his shoulders.

So obviously she was his prize. And what a wonderful one at that!

 _How to get her free?_  Cedric asked himself. He glanced around his feet for anything jagged, as the spears were obviously staying with their owners.

He looked over his shoulder at Harry, still arguing with the merman. He had time. It was all good. He could get there first.

To be honest, he couldn't give a damn. There was just the matter of Hermione's time 'running out'.

She could drown in however many minutes he had left to complete the task. With all his dilly-dallying earlier, he was guessing it wasn't much.

He was bloody-well screwed.

He raised his now-remembered wand, and shouted "REDUCTO!" as loud as he could. A bright red spark flew from his wand, destroying the rope of seaweed next to Hermione. He grabbed her as quickly as possible, flung her over his shoulder, and started swimming as fast as possible to the surface. Once he got some new air, it'd be easier for him to swim to shore.

A garbled noise came from behind him, and Cedric turned his head. He saw Harry glaring at him from his position beside Weasley.

"What?" he yelled. There was no reply. Harry simply pointed at Hermione, awaiting an answer.

"I'll explain when you can speak, Potter! You might want to hurry!" He gestured to his imaginary watch on his left wrist, and started kicking once more.

Swimming higher and higher, Cedric's breathing became easier the more he could see. The water was less murky and he found great relief in the clean water. So Cedric swam just below the surface of the lake, until he could finally see and feel the bottom. He removed the Bubble-Head charm and hoisted Hermione more comfortably into his arms. Wading through the lake, he broke the surface, gasping for fresh air. His ears were assaulted with cheers, boos and all sorts of brass instruments.

"And the first Champion to retrieve their prize – Cedric Diggory!" a booming voice announced, and he was made deaf once more. A stirring in his arms drew his attention to his favourite fourth year.

He was such a pervert.

He looked down to see a rather rare confused expression on her face.

"Where's Harry?" her voice squeaked. He stiffened, readily admitting his jealousy to himself. She moved closer to him, touching his chest now, grabbing onto his sodden shirt. He tightened his arms around her, trying to ease her shivers.

"He's still in the lake." he whispered in Hermione's ear. "It's alright. You're safe now." He reassured her.

Cedric set her down on her feet, but she huddled against him still, pressing her wet body into his. He screwed his eyes shut.

_This really isn't fair._

He felt a blanket drape over her frame, and he pulled it around her more tightly. He waited, absentmindedly playing with the wet strands of hair falling down her back heavily.

It was only a few minutes before Harry emerged, somehow carrying two 'prizes'.

 _That greedy bastard,_  Cedric thought wryly.

"And the second Champion – Harry Potter!" Roars from the Hogwarts' students followed, and Cedric found himself wincing. Hermione burrowed her head further into his chest, but he felt the tension in her shoulders release, and knew she was relieved that Harry was safe. Or alive, given he was Harry Potter.

"You've been hiding." Cedric said, smirking down at what he'd 'sorely miss'.

She looked up at him then, vulnerable; lovely brown eyes wide, and pink lips swollen from the cold.

He really wanted to kiss her.

"What?" she whispered.

"You've been hiding," he repeated, pausing. "I finally found you." She stayed silent, as he knew she would.

"Nice try, Granger." He smirked again. And for a moment, he saw the hint of a smile on her face.

Before Weasley came and ruined the whole thing.

"Hermione!"

She whipped around, and Cedric wanted to groan at the redhead's simply impeccable timing.

Well… he  _really_  couldn't talk.

"Are you alright?" the boy said, moving closer. Cedric felt like growling.

_Whoa, there. Calm down, boy!_

"I'm fine." she answered meekly, still in his arms. She perked up suddenly. "Where's Harry?"

He would have to get used to this.

"He's in the healing tent. Told me to come and get you." Weasley stated, staring intently at Cedric's arms.

Hermione broke free of the Hufflepuff, pulling him along behind her instead. She was walking purposely to the healing tent.

"Granger," he started, but couldn't find the right words. She didn't seem to be listening, anyway. They entered the tent, and Hermione inspected the patients until she saw Harry at the far end of the tent, and continued her stride toward him.

"Harry! Oh, are you okay? Did you get attacked by anything?" She placed both her hands on his face, looking for any injuries. Harry didn't bother to tell her that a Healer had looked him over and gave him permission to leave the tent.

"No." Harry chuckled, shaking his head. Hermione frowned deeply.

"How did you breathe underwater? When we left, we weren't very close to finding anything." Harry found this rather amusing as Hermione had said they'd been close before the twins had taken her to McGonagall. Probably just to raise his spirits.

"I'll tell you later." he said, eyeing Cedric standing awkwardly to the side.

"Nice work, Potter." he tried to say as warmly as possibly given the boy's positioning in conjunction with Hermione.

"Thanks. Not too bad yourself, Diggory."

They both nodded in acknowledgement.

"What happened to Fleur?" Hermione asked, looking between the two. "Who saved her sister?"

"She got attacked by a horde of Grindylows, and had to come back to shore. She was disqualified from the task. That's why I brought her sister back." Harry stated, looking frustrated with himself. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd have known she wasn't going to  _die_." he muttered to himself.

Cedric and Harry glanced at each other and grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"We should go and watch the scores." she suggested. She walked away, obviously expecting them to follow. They started to leave the tent at a slower pace.

"You  _do_  realise you're going to have to explain yourself, don't you?" Harry said casually, but Cedric wasn't fooled. He didn't answer.

Cedric was surprised that Harry left it so easily, but was just thankful he wasn't having the conversation with Weasley. That would have been something very unfortunate.

They approached the shore, standing alongside their hostages, waiting for the scores to be announced. He started to get nervous.

Ludo Bagman spoke amongst the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-chieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…

"Miss Fleur Delacour, thought she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by Grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Polite applause came from the stands, and a required humble comment came from the French girl.

"Mr Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour," cheers erupted around him and Cedric felt himself flush lightly. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Mr Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective and was third to return with his hostage. We award him thirty-eight points.

"Mr Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued, casting Harry what looked to be an impressed expression, "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Mer-chieftainess informs us that Mr Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

Cedric saw Hermione and Weasley both give Harry a look. He'd have to ask about that later.

"Most of the judges feel that this shows moral fibre and merits full marks. However… Mr Potter's score is forty-five points." The crowd applauded loudly. Cedric clapped along with them, knowing that had it not been for his typical Boy-Who-Lived behaviour, Potter would have beaten him fair and square.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what is coming, precisely one month beforehand."

So that was it. One more task and Cedric would be done with this hell of a Tournament.

_Thank Merlin._

"Thanks." he heard from his left. He turned, and saw Hermione looking down at her feet.

 _She's not very good at accepting help, is she?_  he mused.

"No problem." he said, amused. She looked up at him then, searching his face.

"What?" she said flatly. This amused him even further. She had to know the reason behind everything. It was cute.

"Well you don't really need to say thanks. It's not like you would've died out there."

She opened her mouth, and closed it again, looking affronted. He cursed inwardly, realising his mistake. He stepped closer.

"I… I didn't mean it like that, Granger." he stated, seeing the crowd start to head off back to the castle. He had to move closer to avoid getting knocked over.

She blinked and said nothing. Why was this so awkward?

_Damnit, Granger!_

"I want you to think about something for me." he started. Maybe this would get her brain going. An equation she has to solve. Hermione loved knowledge, after all.

"You were  _my_  hostage. Out of this whole school, they picked you for me to save." He paused to let it sink in. She was still staring at him, but he could see her brain ticking. "Just think about that." And with that, Cedric walked up the path to the castle, hoping for a nice warm shower and a large feast to celebrate.

_What a brilliant exit._


	10. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cedric is so gross sometimes. #internalisedmisogyny

" _Kill the spare."_

_Her legs felt locked in place. She saw the green light before it even left the wand. She'd seen this scene before, so many times now. It was almost boring. Of course, her reaction during the conflict was much different. Her eyes widened behind the wire spectacles. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw Cedric stumble back, squinting against the green light that would determine his fate._

" _No!" a voice shouted, deep and nothing like her own, although she'd felt her lips move. The dirt underneath her fingernails grated on her nerves, and Hermione really wanted to tell Harry to cut the damn things. But of course, this was a dream, and something unrelated to real life._

_Terror gripped her like nothing before as she tackled Cedric to the ground, hearing his exhale of breath due to the impact. She knew this wasn't real, she knew. And yet she still had to carry through with what she'd told herself she'd do. She was saving Cedric, a subconscious thought that influenced all her actions._

_He looked confused, staring up at her from the dusty ground. She returned his stare, trying to tell him through her – Harry's eyes that she loved him, and that there was no way she would lose him so suddenly._

_Oh, the hell with it._

" _I love you, and there's no way in hell that I'm letting you die, Cedric!" she shrieked, although to Harry's ears it sounded more like a desperate yell. The Hufflepuff's eyes widened and he frowned simultaneously. She grabbed his shirt, the yellow now a dirty mustard colour, and yanked him up off the ground. She could hear the ragged breath of Pettigrew behind her, and his loud conversation with whatever the hell was in his arms._

" _Kill him!"_

_She ran, pulling a stunned Cedric along behind her, afraid of what would happen now. She had never gone this far before, and she felt a rush of exhilaration go through her._

" _My lord, Potter-"_

_Hermione pushed Cedric behind a large block-like statue, obscuring them from view as an inhumane scream erupted from behind the blankets in Pettigrew's lumpy arms, reverberating throughout the graveyard. She knew she didn't have much time. A noisy rustling was heard from twenty feet away, and Hermione grabbed at her chance._

_Still holding him up against the statue, Hermione whispered to Cedric feverishly, looking straight at him due to her new-found height._

" _No matter what happens,_ do what I say _. I'll explain things later. We're getting out of here._ Together _."_

_The pants were getting closer now, and her fear was rising. The rat was sure to come across them soon, as was inevitable. There was a long pause as Cedric gazed at her fully, the frown forming into a look of disbelief._

" _Hermione?" he said. Too loud. Much too loud. She slapped her hand over his mouth, silencing him._

" _POTTER!" the screech caused her to spin around, and she gave an unmanly scream-_

Hermione jolted awake, panting heavily and very alarmed. She felt tears running down her face, and her bangs stuck to her forehead uncomfortably. She saw, and felt, a sheen of sweat coating her skin in the moonlight coming from the dorm window.

That was new… very new.

She got out of bed, covers long-forgotten on the floor from her restlessness, and snatched up a self-inking quill from her desk, seating herself in the cushioned but rather hard stool.

Hermione's note-taking caused a wave of exhaustion to come over her, but she couldn't sleep. If she slept, she'd forget her findings and she'd be back to square one. The meticulously scrawled sentences on parchment were crucial to her understanding and prevention of such dreams and events.

Sighing, she set down the quill, shoulders falling into a hunched position. This was hopeless. Why was she trying to stop these dreams? Nothing would ever work. She needed to focus on saving his life. Meddling with time, breaking the rules, and the  _law_ , and possibly sacrificing herself in the process.

This needed to stop. This self-doubt, this depression; she was ruining herself. Spending copious nights up late trying to find a solution to her never-ending problem was doing her no good.

It was that thought that made her realise the core of her haywire emotions and unstable mentality as of late.

She was obsessed.

She was obsessed with her problem. Obsessed with herself. To the degree where it was all she could think about. She was ignoring her friends, her school work, and her parents. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd owled her family, and felt guilt wash over her. She was a horrible daughter, a horrible friend. What had she been thinking? The things she'd been researching… they'd been almost dark in nature. Mixing Dark Arts with Divination was tricky business. Who did she think she was, thinking she was immune to the allure? They were addictive for a reason. And it had taken only days for their hold on her to be suffocating. They were on the way to destroying her.

So unremarkably naïve of her to believe that she couldn't be affected, couldn't be tainted. She'd been nearly attacked by a unicorn, for Merlin's sake! One of the most pure living things on the planet, and she still hadn't been able to see the impending darkness consuming her.

Hermione could have hit herself.

She sat there; self-pitying, depressed, and helpless. This was what she'd reduced herself to. Some pathetic little girl, sobbing into the darkness of her dorm and too idiotic to think of a silencing charm.

"Who's there?" a voice cut through the sounds of Hermione's agony. She stopped abruptly. She couldn't stay here anymore. Gathering her notes, not caring for the noise she made, nor bothering to find the comfort of a quickly-cooling bed or some warm woolen socks, Hermione almost tripped in her haste to escape her Dark Arts haven.

Shutting the door behind her with a soft click, Hermione only just saw the drapes of Lavender's bed open as she left. Running down the stairs, Hermione stopped at the bottom, breathing heavily into the dark of the deserted common room. She didn't know what time it was, but no one was up, and that was good enough for her.

 _Not far enough,_  she thought.

Rushing over the portrait hole, she opened it slowly, careful not to wake The Fat Lady. She'd be coming back in the morning, so waking her now served no purpose.

Her bare feet slapped against the dark stone of the corridor silently, and her pyjama bottoms dragged along behind her, rustling slightly. Holding the parchment to her chest, Hermione's eyes darted constantly, and her breathing was very shallow. The dark circles under her eyes were very prominent in the fire light of the hallway, and her skin still pale from her dream. Her hair, still so very wild and curly, stuck to the back of her neck and the sides of her face, hardening in the stale air surrounding her.

She didn't really know where she was. The fire light wasn't particularly good down here, but she deciphered she was near the Entrance Hall. With no signs of Filch or his bloody cat, she took the staircase down to the Hall and turned left to enter a door situated directly next to the stairs. There was a long staircase down to the dungeon level of Hogwarts, and Hermione saw the entrance to the kitchens down a hallway at the bottom of the stairs. She walked past the hallway and continued down the corridor, turning right, and then left, coming to a stop in front of a still life. Hermione felt rather stumped given the now-unusual stillness of the painting, but jumped when an orange sported a rather large mouth, a gravelly voice coming from it.

"Password?"

That was a sight problem. Stumbling over her words a bit, Hermione professed the truth to the piece of fruit.

"I… uh… don't know, exactly." she whispered, her voice raspy from her nightmare.

"Well, that doesn't help now, does it?" it said rudely. "I don't know why I ever agreed to this. Rowdy students turning up in the early hours of the morning, and I'm supposed to let them in without the password?" it gave the equivalent of a sneer in Hermione's direction. "I don't think so, missy!" the orange whispered harshly, and she thought she heard a snicker from one of the apples. Looking blankly at the portrait, Hermione turned to the wall next to the picture, and plopped herself down on the cold stone.

"What are you doing?" the apple asked, its voice nasally. Hermione winced. Her ears were sensitive, as they always were after her nightmares. "You can't just sit there!" it exclaimed in a whisper.

"Watch me." she said flatly, eyes half-lidded in her exhaustion. She wasn't sleeping now, however. She shuffled the parchments in her hands, and read over her latest writings.

It was a while before Hermione looked up from her notes, seeing a scared-looking first year staring at her, lip trembling, and chest, emblazoned with a black and yellow badger, heaving.

"W-w… w-what are y-you… do-d-ing h-here?" she stuttered. Hermione didn't answer, and the question hung in the air above them. She narrowed her eyes.

The little Hufflepuff ran off down the corridor, looking back at Hermione fearfully.

What was wrong with her? It wasn't like she was a Slytherin or anything.

A few more students staggered out of the portrait hole over the next hour, each varying in their amount of wariness toward Hermione. Just as she was thinking about giving up and leaving, he stumbled through himself.

"-ckon they can beat them next match, Ced. We should get tickets! Skip a few classes or something." said a cheerful voice, emerging from the portrait hole.

"I'm not going to watch a stupid Quidditch match." he said, rolling his eyes as the portrait shut behind him.

"Why not?" his friend whined, looking at Cedric desperately. "You're the only one who plays Quidditch out of us all!"

"I play. I don't watch. Plus, I don't need that right now. The Tournament is stressful enough as it is, I don't need Snape on my back…" he trailed off, spying Hermione huddled against the wall next to the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.

She looked up at him from under her lashes, hair falling over her eyes and goosebumps on her arms, making her feel a prickling sensation.

"Granger," he said, stunned. His friend quirked an eyebrow in questioning. Cedric held out his hand for her, and she clasped it greedily.

"You're freezing." he commented, rubbing his hand over her arm as she stood up, only a foot away from him. His touch was so gentle, yet had such a contrast because of his Quidditch-weathered hands. She shivered. "No wonder," he said, looking her over. "You're barely wearing anything."

Hermione looked down at her cotton pyjama bottoms and tank top, what she now always wore to bed. Her almost nightly terrors were guaranteed to make her over-heat every time, and so she'd become accustomed to wearing her summer nightclothes all-year-round.

"You have my book." she croaked.

He frowned, worry etched all over his face.

"And you're going to give it to me." she croaked once more. "Now."

Cedric knew it was a demand, not a request, but his frown deepened.

Now was the time.

"I need answers." he said.

"Not until I get my book."

"But they have everything to do with it."

"Not until I get my book, Cedric."

There was a pause. Cedric looked over his shoulder, hands still grasping her forearms.

"I'll see you later, Matthias." Matthias looked taken aback, but with one final glance he turned and left for the Great Hall.

Cedric released his hold, reaching for her hand instead.

"Boomslang." he pronounced, and the portrait swung open. "Come on," he muttered to her, pulling her inside.

The Hufflepuff common room was exactly as she expected it to be. The luscious colours of the yellow hangings and cosy armchairs accentuated the gold picture frames and black leather couches. The fire was going, earlier than Hermione had ever seen one alight in the Gryffindor common room. Rugs covered the floor, warming up the cold stone and giving Hermione the feel of home as her toes felt the soft fur on one. A dark mahogany table sat in front of one of the couches, and Hermione saw a bowl of Honeydukes' chocolate sitting in the middle, surrounded by  _Daily Prophets_.

"Stay here." he said to her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her. He gave her a last glance and Hermione saw him move over to a rounded wooden door; its shape, she noticed, softening the room.

She stood there, not knowing what to do. Still cold, she settled for a seat in front of the fire. She stared into its depths, feeling horrible.

She heard Cedric before she saw him, but turned her head anyway. He burst from the round door, slightly out of breath, hair a mess, and cheeks stained pink.

In his hands, he held her answers.

Hermione jumped up from the armchair, and walked quickly toward him. She stopped in front of him, and placed her hands over the book. She could almost taste the end, the solution. It was there. _Right there_.

Just as she was about to tug the troubling thing toward her, he spoke.

"I read it."

She paused.

_Crap._

That's what he meant by answers, Hermione realised. He wanted to know what she wanted with such a book. He wanted to know why she was reading something so out-of-character for her. And lastly, he wanted to know why she needed it so badly.

This wasn't going to go very well.

"I need to know, Hermione."

With a shock, she realised it was the first time he had called her by her given name.

She moved her head slowly to gaze up at him through her bangs.

"I'm- … I'm one." she said, and the room was silent except for the crackling of the fire. Hermione didn't really want to explain herself right then, but she knew it was only fair to him that she did. She'd been avoiding him and making up excuses for far too long. She had tried to delude herself into thinking he'd never know, but she was again naïve to think he wouldn't figure it out. Cedric was intelligent. She knew that.

His expression didn't change at her confession, so she figured he needed a more detailed description. Lips trembling with contained emotion, she spoke the words she'd been denying for so long.

"I'm a Death Seer."

 

\---

 

He'd been trying to corner Granger ever since Wednesday when he'd left her with his words of wisdom to go shower in the Hufflepuff dorms, but she'd been almost impossible to find. Embarrassed, he'd even resorted to Weasley and Potter to find out her whereabouts.

"What do you care, Diggory?" Weasley had spat in the hallway leading to the Entrance Hall, "As far as I'm concerned, Hermione's none of your business."

Cedric had been very tempted to reply with something along the lines of 'If she's not my business, why did I rescue her from the lake?', but thought better of it when he had chanced a look at Weasley's almost purple face.

Potter really wasn't much better, albeit less aggressive. "Cedric," he'd sighed when Cedric had followed him to the Library on Thursday, "I'm waiting for that explanation. And until I get it, I'm not letting you in on anything."

Well, what was he going to do? Tell Potter then and there that he happened to like his bushy-haired friend, but she'd been avoiding him for most of the year for some unknown reason?

Of course not.

Adding that she was interested in this whole Death Seer business probably wasn't a bright idea, either.

So he was on his own.

He didn't know where she got it from, but Granger's stealth was soon becoming legendary to him, and he'd given up the search, figuring she would come to him.

He was happy to be right, this time. Turning up very early in the morning clad in her pyjamas wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking of in regards to waiting for her to come to him. But who was he to question things? She had come, and that was all that mattered.

He thought that maybe she was crazy. Well, he didn't complain because he happened to like a bit of crazy in his witches, but it worried him. She didn't seem to be taking care of herself.

"You're freezing." he'd commented. "No wonder, you're barely wearing anything."

It was true. She had been in loose, light blue cotton bottoms, and a white tank top. He was slightly appreciative, but snapped himself out of it at the time. He felt so perverted every time he thought things of that nature about a girl – no, a woman – two years his junior. Normally it wouldn't worry him, but she was Hermione Granger, Potter's best friend, and he was Cedric Diggory, resident Golden Boy and expected to live up to his name. If they were together romantically… well, let's just say that the population of Hogwarts wasn't even contemplating it as a possibility.

But regardless of whether she looked good, those were not appropriate nightclothes for late February. Surely she'd known that?

She probably had, the little minx. Teasing him, no doubt.

He'd snapped himself out of it again.

He had acquiesced with her request to retrieve the black book, pulling her into the common room with him. He found the book in his dorm almost instantly, hiding under his bed from where he'd thrown it in his frustration before the task. He hadn't known what it all meant then, and thought it interesting, but pointless. It was one step backwards to figuring out the Granger puzzle. Thankful to be wrong, Cedric opened the book, an idea coming to mind.

Without a doubt, Granger would freak and run. Or freak and deny everything.

And so, he'd ripped a small piece of parchment from his nearly due Potions essay, and wrote in his messy scrawl,

_Meet me in the kitchens at eleven o'clock this evening. Don't be late._

He'd shoved it into the book at a random interval, and rushed out of his dorm and into the common room. She'd come to him almost immediately, looking at the book in such a way that made him think she liked it more than him.

Telling her he'd read it was a smart move, in hindsight. She'd frozen, lost for words. Finally he was getting somewhere.

Then she'd gone ahead and told him what he didn't think she'd ever say.

So here he was now, stumped, staring into her face in disbelief.

"What?" Cedric asked incredulously, taking a step back. And the book with him, Hermione noted.

"I- …" she went to touch him, hand half-raised, but thought better of it and dropped it soundlessly. Oh how he wished she'd touch him. Every time they had touched, he'd instigated it. He found her over-thinking nature adorable, but sometimes he wished she'd stop thinking and just  _do_.

"So that's why you wanted the book? You're… one of them?"

It looked like she deflated. She looked down at her hands and nodded solemnly.

"You should've told me sooner." he sighed, wearily rubbing his hands over his face.

Hermione's head snapped up suddenly, eyes fiery. She was sick of his games; the hidden messages behind all his words; his weird affection towards her, and the way in which he gave her the cold shoulder for weeks. She was sick of being pushed and pulled, a puppet for his own amusement.

"What?" she said abruptly. "And make you see me as some pathetic, insane fourth year?" she laughed darkly, cold with no humour.

"Don't be so stupid." he scoffed.

"Is it  _really_  stupid, Cedric? I'm sure my sanity is already being questioned by the majority of this school, you would just be one among many." She spat, turning her head away from his piercing gaze.

"Is that all I am to you? Some… pushover?" Cedric asked angrily, fists clenching around the book in his grasp.

"You're Cedric Diggory." she snarled, "Of course you are."

Cedric dropped the book, taking the last step so that he was only a foot away, and grabbed her arms roughly, his hands almost white with the pressure he exuded. Her expression changed, and she looked at him with wide eyes. He could safely say he never wanted to hear her speak like that again, ever. It wasn't like her.

Something was happening. She was different. She was changing.

He glared into her eyes, and Hermione was getting that same feeling she'd had all those months ago when he'd stared _into_  her, not at her. He was seeing through all the walls she'd put up as a defense, and she knew he wouldn't like what she saw.

"What's happening to you?" he growled, giving her a tiny shake. She whimpered quietly. Cedric stiffened at the sound, still burning his eyes into her. There was a pause, and Hermione thought that he would refuse to keep talking to her, or that he would demand that she tell him why she was acting like this. She wasn't ready for something like that.

Hermione felt his grip loosen, and saw his face soften slightly.

He was suddenly everywhere; his right hand brushed down her arm to her hip, the left covered her own hand, his head rested in the crook of her neck – almost nuzzling – and she could feel his hot breath across her collarbone. Her skin came up with goosebumps from where he'd touched her, and her breathing quickened. His hair was rubbing against her cheek, a slight tickling feeling, and his chest was wonderfully close to her own. She was hyper-aware of his body so close to hers.

Cedric inhaled deeply, nose skimming her neck.

"I'm sorry." he breathed. She knew she could only hear him because he was so very close.

He pulled back, and Hermione knew that if she were to lean only an inch forward, she would be kissing him.

And it was so tempting.

"But you have to trust me." he continued.

Her eyes flickered back and forth between his, searching his face for any sort of indication to what he was thinking. She knew she could trust him, but this involved him in a way that he hadn't even thought of.

"I'm having dreams." she whispered, looking at his lips to distract herself from what she was saying. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply to stop the choking up of her voice. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She had to be strong.

"Seer dreams." she said.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"I presume you're not going to expand on that?" he asked as he looked down at her, already knowing the answer. He knew, regardless. That book was quite handy, indeed. She was having dreams of someone dying, dreams of the future. And she wasn't telling him.

Hermione placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the searing heat emanating from it.

"I can't, Cedric." she said hopelessly. Her eyes begged him to understand. "It would ruin everything." Her head bowed to rest against his chest, and she felt the slow rise and fall.

Cedric came to the conclusion that that was as far as he was going to get.

 

\---

 

She and Cedric were in the library, huddled in an isolated corner, hunched over the book she'd been meaning to read a month ago.

He was making her skip to all the parts he believed to be relevant. Grudgingly she let him – he'd read it, after all.

_There are no known Death Seers alive today, but the curious case of…_

_Sometimes the ability can be triggered by something else entirely – often a traumatic event, but occasionally something as mundane as meeting a new person._

_The object of a Death Seer's prophecies is labeled a 'charge'. This is because Death Seers often feel the need to protect them, or stop their deaths from happening. There is not a case before the publishing of this book in which a Death Seer has successfully prevented the predicted death of their charge…_

_Almost all Death Seers have been women. It is not known why this is, but speculations have been made about the perceptiveness and emotional attachment of females in relation to their charge._

_Most uncommon, is the resurgence of the Death Seer gene in Muggle-born witches, as the gift is purely magical and suspected to have been 'watered down' throughout generations in the Wizarding World. Albus Dumbledore was…_

Hermione paused.  _Wait…_ what _?_

She stopped Cedric in his turning of pages by grabbing his hand.

"Look at this!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger at the relevant line. She read on.

_Albus Dumbledore was in contact with a Death Seer in 1938, who predicted the death of a girl named Myrtle Flinders, a half-blood student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After her death and the knowledge of the Death Seer made public, he stated,_

" _Very regretful I am about Myrtle's untimely death. However, it is not something to be feared, and if myself or Miss Flinders' Death Seer had intervened – it would have been a sorry sight indeed."_

"So ask Dumbledore." Cedric said after she swore under her breath.  _That_  was why he'd been so suspicious of her. Surely the mention of Cedric in their conversation wasn't coincidence either. Just how much did the Headmaster know?

"I can't just 'ask Dumbledore', Cedric." she responded with a heavy sigh, shutting the small book and placing it on the table. She could feel Cedric's fingers brush her back, as they were placed on the back of her chair. She turned her head in his direction.

"Granger, you're going to have to ask for help sometime. This is eating you up inside, I can tell." he snapped.

"Well, I have you!" she exclaimed, shifting her body so she was facing him in her chair.

"And what good am I?" he retorted. "You're going to have to talk to someone who knows their stuff." He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm no help."

As Cedric stood up straight and walked away from his favourite Gryffindor fourth year, he was outside the Great Hall when he suddenly realised he'd forgotten to ask the most important question-

Just  _who_  was going to die?


	11. Butterfly, Tornado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes across as Dumbledore-bashing and I love Dumbledore as a character, he's so interesting, so please don't take it like that. Also, I KIND of predicted his true nature a bit in this chap... I didn't believe it myself at the time, I just manipulated him for the story but wowza. DH hadn't come out by this point, so this is pretty creepy!

It was exactly one week after the Second Task, two days after Ron's birthday, the third of the third month, that Hermione decided she wanted her answers from Dumbledore. She'd known previously that she'd needed them, but  _wanting_  them was a whole other story. Unfortunately for Hermione, although stubborn, it took her a while to decide things. It was pretty much uncommon knowledge that while Hermione was steadfast in everything she did, it just took her a while to make the decision to become that way. That's why she was such a thinker. Thinking before doing.

She'd always pondered what would happen if she did the opposite. So much like Harry she would be. He was always hot-headed, especially with Ron's influence – both had the tendency to just barge into Voldemort's hiding place and announce his presence for the entire world to hear and see. But Hermione wasn't like that at all. In fact, she was probably leaning more toward the other extreme; she thought and thought and thought until she thought she could think no more, and most of the time ended up second-guessing herself and her actions. Doubt was a favourite emotion of hers, always in the back of her mind – nagging, nagging,  _nagging_.

It wasn't that much of a surprise that she found herself hesitating before the gargoyles she knew would house the entrance to the Headmaster's office. She'd skipped Charms for this. Just once, she wished she could be so confident with herself, and what she was proposing, what she was suggesting, what she was demanding – why couldn't she know what she wanted to achieve? Why did everything have to be an option, not an action?

Hermione was confined to her own way of thinking. Stuck in a mold for all eternity, she could never escape what was expected of her – to think, to analyse, to suggest alternatives, to  _warn_. After she'd so desperately agonised over the possibility that she completely change, without the interference of even her closest friends, fate had gone and dropped the heaviest bomb on her, the worst burden to bear, and something which she resented with the core of her very being.

It's funny how such small things can affect someone for the rest of their life. Not meeting someone could mean that they end up partner-less and unhappy; not taking that extra risk of changing jobs could mean financial debt when they were fired the next day…

Not being born meant that that certain someone could never experience the little things.

The Butterfly Effect was something Hermione had always believed in vehemently. Changing something even so minute as the grade on a paper always bore consequences. She knew this. She knew a butterfly's wings could move at a steady rhythm, harmless.

And she knew that on the other side of the world, that same pushing of air could build to enormous proportions and a tornado could form, destroying everything and everyone in its path.

Hermione didn't think she could look at a butterfly the same way again.

But amongst the skepticism, Hermione realised that she didn't care for the consequences anymore. Yes, she'd recognised that they had been such an important part of her life since she was born, but now, things had changed –  _she_  had changed. Hermione wasn't the one dealing with the tornado anymore; she was the butterfly causing the whole mess.

 _Oh, the irony._  She had her own little Butterfly Effect going on now – that slight change, the comprehension that she was, indeed, a Death Seer, had completely altered everything that was going to happen until the moment finally presented itself. Hermione, not believing in fate or destinies, or any branches of Divination that suggested you couldn't change what was meant to happen, found herself in her favourite emotion.

For all she knew, Cedric died because she found out she was a Death Seer, because she had tried to save him, because she had  _failed_.

 _Maybe I should just leave it,_  Hermione thought.  _Maybe it's best if I let things run their course – let fate have her way._

Again, with the second guessing, Hermione shook herself to attention. Fate was such a fickle thing. So small, so insignificant – and yet, so mind-boggling that any normal human being couldn't help but be fascinated by it. Maybe that was why Hermione was always in doubt. In fact, maybe that's why Hermione was considered one of the most intelligent and daring people of her age.

Hermione questioned fate. She questioned everything it presented her. She'd questioned being female in a time when, although they were treated better, they were indirectly looked down upon; she'd questioned being a witch, something she should have taken great joy in, but instead had asked Professor McGonagall whether Jimmy Walden next door had put her up to it; she'd questioned being a Muggle-born when she had thought things could be no worse in those first few months at Hogwarts; she'd questioned Sirius Black and his innocence, when Harry had so desperately needed a father figure; and finally, she questioned herself and her abilities.

Cedric Diggory really had no hope in the world if Hermione Granger was the one to save him.

She was a questioner. She needed answers to her questions. And if those answers created more questions, then so be it – she'd make them give her more answers.

Dumbledore was the one with the answers. She knew, despite not really knowing the man, that he knew everything she needed to know. He knew the answers to all her questions.

Call it women's intuition, or maybe even fickle fate, but Hermione knew that he would tell her everything he wanted to to get her to stop caring.

After all, that's what she was doing.

"Ah, Miss Granger," said that old, deceitfully nimble voice that Hermione now resented, "I'm not at all surprised that you are here."

Decked in robs of pale gold that glittered in the sunlight coming through the windows, Dumbledore smiled genially at the fourth year Gryffindor. He could see the distaste for him written clearly on the girl's face, and yet, he did not begrudge her at all. After all, he had been like that once.

"I am, however, rather bemused by the fact you have not moved in the last ten minutes, or even noticed my presence for that matter." He smiled again, eyes crinkled with amusement. Albus had always tried to let the small things make him laugh – it had made him who he was today; rather dotty, but calm and collected, and oh-so-powerful. He liked being underestimated.

It seemed, so did Hermione Granger.

"Oh, I was just contemplating whether I should disrupt you, sir. As you see, I thought you were happily occupying your office and maybe in the middle of something. I wouldn't have liked to interrupt something important, Headmaster." Hermione said precisely, so much so that Dumbledore could not help but be suspicious of the girl.

_Oh, I have you now, Miss Granger. You can escape me no longer._

"Why, it seems you've caught me at exactly the right time – I just departed from the staff room and planned to have a spot of tea upon my return." Dumbledore gave what he knew to be a fatherly smile. "Would you like to join me?"

He could see her jaw clench in controlled annoyance, a habit he was sure she had picked up from another student that he knew quite well. Perhaps she was spending too much time with the boy. No matter, he would deal with it when the time came.

"Of course, sir. I'd be delighted." Hermione replied through clenched teeth, trying to sound pleasantly surprised. She didn't think it had worked as Dumbledore's smile widened and his eyes started their infuriating twinkling.

As she followed the gold sliding up the stairs to the Professor's office, Hermione knew she was in trouble. Albus Dumbledore was a force to be reckoned with, but not in the way most would expect. In fact, Hermione was surprised that the Headmaster had not been a Slytherin, but supposed that he lacked the ambitious qualities required. After all, his decline of the Minister of Magic position had no reason behind it. He just hadn't felt like it.

 _Hadn't felt like it?_  she thought, amazed.  _I wish I had that luxury._

Dumbledore knew. She didn't know how, but he knew. Of course, he seemed to know everything. He had eyes and ears all over the castle. Weirdly, Hermione had thought herself immune to his monitoring, and had not even thought to conceal what she was doing in the library, or using a silencing charm during her conversations with Cedric.

Well, she couldn't do anything about that now. She was done for. There was no hope for her now. She'd be questioned, she would get no answers for herself, and she would most likely be asked to leave the school – or even worse, leave Cedric.

 _This was his idea in the first place;_ he _can deal with the consequences._

She didn't care, she was the butterfly now.

Dumbledore sat across from her, sipping his rather weak tea, and popping a lemon drop into his mouth, chomping down on it in a thoughtful manner. Hermione was seated in a comfortable leather chair, somewhere she had been once before in a situation much like this. She got the feeling that she would be spending a lot of her time in here from now on.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think you have to explain yourself."

He was such a contradiction. Gryffindor, but with Slytherin qualities. Powerful, but with no ambition. Humble, but a, what seemed to be, self-appointed leader. Known for riddles and rants of socks, but now speaking to her so directly, so casually, and in such a demanding manner that Hermione had to take offense.

"Excuse me, sir?" she spoke sharply, not even bothering to hide her fury. He blinked owlishly, looking no where near as manipulative as he seemed. Hermione did not move, nor did she speak. She had no reason to. This… this man, not involved in what seemed to be any important way, demanded what she knew. He demanded that she tell him everything, that she  _explain_. Oh, there was no way she was doing that.

"I believe you heard what I said, Miss Granger." the Headmaster spoke in such an unconcerned manner that Hermione nearly didn't respond. He knew this was the way to get to her, to get her to make him privy to what she was going through. He was avoiding any possible reason she could get angry. And it wasn't working.

"Yes, I heard what you said. I merely spoke as an expression of my confusion." Hermione snapped, clenching the arms of her chair so tightly that her skin became white. Her jaw was clenched, something she'd learnt from  _him_ , and her eyes were downcast, staring at her shoes so she didn't feel that always faint  _brush_  against her mind whilst in the old wizard's presence.

"Miss Granger, it seems I will have to remind you that you are a student at this school, and not someone who has the right to go about doing whatever they want," he stopped, staring at her. She looked up slightly, careful to avoid his eyes, but acknowledging his speech, "There are rules to be upheld, and I will not settle for your disrespect of  _any_ teacher, including myself."

There was silence, and Hermione felt like she was going to choke.

 _Oh, the irony._ "Professor, maybe you should note that once, years ago – probably last year, even – I would have cared about what you thought of me. I would have definitely cared about  _upholding rules_." her tone was on the thin line of restraining her resentment and mocking the wizard before her, "This year, however, things have changed. I don't care." she looked up into his eyes, not afraid of what he would see anymore. There was a slight hesitation before she gave a cold laugh, "I don't care at all, in fact. And least of all, I don't have to explain myself to you."

There were no words to describe what happened next.

Pain. Immense pain. Hermione felt as if she had the symptoms of every single infection, cold, and cough she'd had in her life come back to her in one full swoop. Her eyes stung, and she felt as though she could not see through the puffiness, even though they were not at all swollen and she was clenching her eyes shut very tightly. Her sinuses were blocked, and she struggled for a soothing breath. Her throat burned like nothing before, and as she tried to swallow the pain, it inflamed to become almost unbearable. Her muscles ached, and her skin was so sensitive that she could feel each individual strand of her cotton school shirt rubbing against her. Her bones locked into place, refusing to move so that she could release the tension rising in her body. Her mind ached with tiredness, and all she wanted to do was collapse into unconsciousness. A cold sweat broke out as Hermione tightened her hold on the chair. She could feel the wood bending, splintering-

Images suddenly flashed before her in reverse. The words were jumbled, the colours bright and the movement sharp. Blurs came and went, some close, others far away. She heard echoes of unnatural sounds – gut-wrenching screeching noises, an unusual sniffling, loud cheering, husky whispers, rushed words, boisterous laughter. She did not really see what was playing in her head, but she certainly felt the emotions rip through her one by one. Happiness. Terror. Confusion. Determination, confidence, doubt. Peacefulness, amusement, shock, hate. Loneliness, depression, worry, safety, care,  _love, love, love-_

She lay panting, on the ground, eyes shut so tightly, face scrunched with so much pain that she could not take it anymore, mouth pressed closed, stomach jolting so forcefully…

Hermione vomited all over herself.

The situation would have been embarrassing if not for the sweeping sense of realisation that overtook her, and the feelings of rage growing to unimaginable heights.

"How-" she coughed violently, body shaking with the force it took to shift to a hunched position, "How dare y-you." she rasped, now starting to tremble aggressively.

"There's no need to explain anymore, Miss Granger." Dumbledore's voice rang throughout the room, a darkness hidden beneath the simple words.

"I know. I know everything."

 

\---

 

Cedric felt as if he'd been punched in the gut while he'd been dressed up as a clown for everyone's daily entertainment, parading around the Great Hall juggling glasses full of water, promising not to spill it on anyone.

Rita Skeeter. That… that  _wench_.

**_HERMIONE GRANGER STRIKES AGAIN – HOW SHE HAS TWO CHAMPIONS WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER_ **

**_Rita Skeeter_ **

_Fifteen year old Hermione Granger, Muggle-born student attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been seen with Harry Potter, supposed best friend, before. But now, she has her sights set on the young Cedric Diggory, a Sixth year student at the school and a TriWizard Champion..._

_Classmates of Miss Granger have evidence that she has used methods such as love potions and certain spells to get what she wants._ _"She's really smart. I wouldn't be surprised if she's done a spell or something." says student Lavender Brown, in the same year as Granger and in her house..._

He couldn't read anymore.

The stares. This was worse than he could have ever imagined. His friends had stayed away from him ever since breakfast. So much for Hufflepuff loyalty.

"Off to have a quickie with Granger in a broom closet, Diggory?" asked Draco Malfoy, someone he knew to be an annoying prat and enemy of Hermione and her dunderhead friends. Why couldn't he walk to class in peace? Choosing not to say anything, he strode on, continuing his way to Arithmancy.

"I didn't think so. Nobody would want to have sex with that  _filthy mudblood_."

Cedric stopped so abruptly he nearly tripped himself over. There was a sudden stillness to the air. He turned around.

He could deal with being called a bastard; he could deal with being so thoroughly insulted and humiliated that it would result in him bursting into great chest-wracking sobs and running off to his dormitory to hide from the laughs. He could not, however, deal with  _anyone_  insulting Granger.

"Excuse me?" he said slowly, hoping he had simply heard the pale-haired boy wrong. But from the widening of the smirk on Malfoy's face, Cedric knew that the fourth year had dug himself a big hole, and Cedric would be the last person to help him out of it.

"I'm pretty thankful, actually," Malfoy stated loudly, laughing with what looked to be two enormous crony-like housemates, "For a Hufflepuff, you're alright. However, had you stooped so low as to have relations with mudblood Granger," he paused, and seemed almost like he was in thought, "Well, I guess things would be a  _lot_  worse, if you know what I mean." The Slytherin's laughter bounced off the walls of the corridor.

Cedric walked closer, his anger building up inside, begging to be vented out on some-

 _Prejudiced dickhead,_  Cedric fumed.

"What is wrong with you?" he growled, advancing on the three fourth years fiercely. The cronies looked scared for a moment before composing themselves. The blonde boy simply raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever do you mean?" he responded innocently, eyebrows raised. Cedric knew he was playing a game with him, but he could not stop himself. However much intended, he knew that the _mudblood_  insult was one he was  _not_  going to hear again from Draco Malfoy.

"You know perfectly what I mean, Malfoy." he said, calming himself. A more calculated, planned approach was suitable for this Slytherin. He wouldn't be caught in his trap.

"Really now? And what exactly is that?" The eyebrows dropped, a deadpan look on the young Malfoy's face as he challenged the Sixth year Hufflepuff.

"I think your head is so far up your arse that you can't even see reality – you're not liked, Malfoy, and you're a prejudiced arsehole. Maybe you should be tolerable once in a while." Cedric said coldly, eyeing up all three boys.

"I'm confused," Malfoy did not look the slight bit puzzled, "Am I the one sticking my head up the arse, or the arsehole?"

It took only a second for Cedric to ram Malfoy up against the corridor wall, pushing both Crabbe and Goyle to the ground roughly. Malfoy's face showed fear for a moment before a mask of indifference came over his features and he was staring into Cedric's steely gaze.

"You're both," Cedric snarled, "And you if you insult Hermione in my presence – in fact,  _ever_  – again then you'll be very sorry. We Hufflepuffs can be fiercely loyal, but we are not ones to forget past grievances. I think you'd do well to remember that,  _Malfoy_." he sneered on the last word, and with one last forceful shove against the wall, Cedric stalked down the hallway to his next class.

Professor Vector was  _not_  going to be happy with him.

But who was he to care? Actually, he could safely say he'd gone way past the caring stage. He was so not bothered by anything at the moment that Snape could give him a thousand detentions and he wouldn't be fazed.

He felt the most carefree he had in years, not bogged down by copious assignments, and lengthy exams, or the complications of a girlfriend, or the overwhelming sense of impending doom he felt at even the smallest thought of the TriWizard Tournament.

He was also possibly the most depressed.

Along with not caring, he had the no feeling thing going on. You know, where nothing seems to matter and so you're left to drown in your own misery until some unfortunate soul  _cares_  to bring you to the surface? Well, Cedric was suffering through just that, just without the unfortunate caring soul. He hadn't seen her since yesterday, and she'd told him she would meet him during lunch, at least. He hadn't glimpsed a peek.

 _And the lies continue,_  he thought.

Well, at least his lying was over and done with. At least to himself. No, he'd turned over a new leaf – no more lying to himself about Hermione Granger. She was to be all truths in his head.

Ignoring her in his head wasn't lying, though… right?

Here he went again, with the denial and the lying (no lying!) and the depressing thoughts just swamping his subconscious. He was dwelling on everything she'd ever said to him, every small sign he'd seen. But back then he'd been preoccupied, too unconcerned about little Miss Granger to even think on the double meanings behind every word, the subtle hints she'd given knowing he'd never pick up on them; indulging herself.

He slipped through the door to the Arithmancy classroom and sat down in a seat at the back, Vector glaring at him sternly for interrupting her lecture, but continuing soon enough, ignoring him completely.

He loved Arithmancy.

Cedric didn't even bother pulling out his textbook, knowing the Professor would not bother with him because of his tardiness. He didn't mind.

_More time to spend pondering the enigma that is Granger._

Couldn't ignore her anymore. She'd been so elusive in the past, and he'd thought nothing of it. She was only baiting him back then, biding her time,  _teasing_. But now, after the talk the night before in the kitchens, and the research in the Library, he couldn't say that she was being elusive. In fact, she was quite straight forward.

" _Well, I have you!"_

No more denying, remember? And he really couldn't – he was Granger's, through and through. Though in what way, he wasn't sure. She watched over him, it seemed. She knew everything that happened to him, she knew his whereabouts and his worries. She knew how to placate him, and she certainly knew how to excite him.

But the slight problem… Granger wasn't  _his_. No way, she most definitely wasn't. If anything, she was Potter's.

He felt his fists clench involuntarily, and his eyes closed tightly.

Jealousy aside, he wanted her to be his. Well, of course, that was his primal side deciding to kick in. But he wanted her in a different way to the way she had him.

Drastically different.

He just kind of didn't know it yet. Not exactly. Not precisely. Not specifically.

Who knew getting to know your wants and needs was so hard?

He knew half of it, it seemed.

Education.  _Need._

Quidditch.  _Want._

Food.  _Need._

Water.  _Need._

Rita Skeeter.  _Did_ not _want._

Granger…  _that_  was the problem.

He dropped his head onto the table loudly, and felt rather than heard the disapproving stare of Vector on his head of messy brown hair. He ignored her.

Suddenly, as if in a dream, Vector announced that they were dismissed so they could research for their extra-long essa-

He was already out the door.

It's time to find that little Gryffindor.

Cedric bolted down a seventh floor corridor, thankful that his early mark let him avoid the post-class rush to the respective dormitories for afternoons of chatter and fun and definitely no work.

Running out of breath, he stopped, placing his arm on a statue to regain some air. The last thing he was expecting was for the gargoyle to start moving as it, revealing a wall that soon split in two. Eyes wide, Cedric was dead still as he heard rather than saw the person coming down the spiraling staircase. Squinting into the darker area to make out a shape, someone stumbled out into the corridor abruptly.

They fell, and Cedric heard the slap of bare knees on stone as he continued to stare. The figure was small, hunched over and shivering non-stop, coughing into its arm. The uniform, he could tell, was female, and it wasn't until he noticed the beautifully wild brown hair and red badge on her jumper that he realised just who had stumbled upon him.

"Granger?"

She then proceeded to vomit over the floor, heaving in great breaths after the deed was done.

Cedric was staring in shock, mouth hanging open slightly.

That  _definitely_  wasn't what he was expecting.


	12. Intricately Ingrained

"He knows."

Cedric stayed as he was – still, silent and in shock. The rasp from the floor made no difference to what he was thinking. He wasn't sure whether he had truly fallen asleep in Arithmancy and was now dreaming; or maybe he'd tripped on the way to finding Granger and hit his head? In fact, maybe this was all one big funny trick his mind was playing on him for the sleep negligence he'd put it through the past week.

It certainly wasn't funny. Cedric was no where near laughing, and it seemed neither was Hermione. Her body was shaking so badly that she seemed almost blurry to his eyes, due to her quick movements. He had to resist his urge to care first and ask questions later – no matter how genuine his feelings, Granger was not his, and he had no right to go about consoling her and entangling his hands in her hair and holding her to his chest-

He took a step closer.

"He knows-" his voice was croaky, and he coughed to clear it. He just hoped she didn't pick up on the fact he was also stalling, "He knows  _what_ , exactly?"

Well, he wasn't stupid. But Granger had yet to tell him everything. Playing dumb was a sure way to get her to let something slip. In her state, and he felt terrible for using her like this, she would most likely give away what he'd been dying to know.

At least, he hoped he wouldn't be dying.

Her eyes looked up at him pitifully, and he felt his heart wrench. They glistened with unshed tears, and Cedric knew the end was close, so close he could almost hear it coming.

"Cedric," she rasped once more, "you know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

Hermione's hair, normally bushy and wild, but still maintained to a sufficient standard on any normal day, was stuck to her face, plastered with congealed sweat and remnants of her food that previous lunchtime. Her face showed what the last hour or so had done to her – tear streaks running down her face; red scratches on her forehead, dark circles encasing her eyes, blood-seeping swollen lips, and red raw gaunt cheeks. Cedric was terrified. Not of her – he could never be scared of her - no, of course not; he was terrified of what Dumbledore had done to finally  _know_. Just a glimpse of an idea was horrifying enough, and Cedric pushed those thoughts away entirely.

It was when he locked eyes with her that he saw the walls crumble. Her arms, once holding up her body weight, collapsed beneath her in a way that made him believe she'd lost consciousness. He could breathe again once he saw her legs curl into her body, showing she still had control over basic muscle movement. He heard the sobs ripping throughout her body and breaking the unbearable silence of the corridor and felt he had to do something, anything.

"Granger, I-"

But what could he say? He had no idea what she'd just been through and, to be honest, didn't really want to find out. Cedric was the only one present in the corridor, and he knew the worst thing to do would be to go back up those stairs and ask Dumbledore for help. No, he'd have to do this on his own. He'd always been pretty good at cheering Granger up, someone who always seemed too uptight for her own good. If he could do that, he could do this.

The sniffling and screeching and hiccuping and moaning stopped as suddenly as if he'd shot Granger dead.

 _Oh, Merlin no._  he groaned with horror.

Ignoring the rational voice in his head that demanded he wait for a few minutes for her to wake up, Cedric rushed to the side of the Gryffindor and turned her on her back as gently as he thought was possible.

Her eyes were closed.

That was bad. Very, very bad – the total opposite of good; something so dreadful that he never thought he'd see it in his life.

"Granger," he spoke urgently, forgetting all sense of secrecy and stalling, and shaking her shoulder as roughly as he dared. Her head lolled to one side and Cedric froze with what he realised was grief.

"You are not doing this to me, Granger. Do you hear me? There is no way I'm letting you do this to me!" his voice cracked on the last word, although when confronted on it later he would vehemently deny it.

He took a moment to look at the strange position her body was lying in, and suddenly shoved his hands underneath her form, ignoring the shape and trying to focus on her wellbeing more than his hormones. It was times like these that Cedric was thankful for playing Quidditch, even if he didn't like to watch it. He was sure that had he not been on the Hufflepuff team that his muscles wouldn't be able to cope with the weight of another human in his arms – not that Granger was overweight or especially heavy, but she was  _unconscious_. Ultimately heavier in his eyes.

He exhaled loudly with the effort and his thighs burned painfully, but he was standing. Cedric shifted the weight onto his forearms more comfortably and watched as her hair fell so gracefully over his arms, the curly tendrils waving with the movement. Her eyelashes brushed the top of her cheekbones, and her lips were slightly parted. The red of her cheeks was slowly disappearing the more he stood there, but he took a chance to admire it while he could. Her nose, small but perky – such was her as a whole. He smiled warmly, gazing at her features a moment more before snapping to attention and starting his steady walk to the hospital wing, leaving her vomit behind him. A house elf, no matter how much he loved them, would be sure to clean it up.

He saw out of the corner of his eye that Hermione's head moved from side to side with each of his strides. He didn't want to harm her in any way, but if he wanted to stop that ever-disappearing rosiness that was normally present in her cheeks, then he needed to _move_.

"I'm sorry." he whispered to what appeared to be himself, but his irises flickered toward the girl in his arms for a second.

Cedric broke out into a sprint, running past aghast portraits and down steep staircases. He did not stop, even bursting through a group of huddled fifth years, paused on their way back to their dormitories, and a rather flustered-looking Professor McGonagall.

"Diggory, what-" she begun, eyes widening beneath her wide-brimmed, pointy emerald hat as she noticed the girl – no, woman – he was cradling.

"No time, Professor." he replied breathlessly, taking no care at all in avoiding the hem of his elder's also emerald robes, hearing the tear and quickening his pace before the old bat came after him.

"DIGGORY!"

"Shit," he muttered, something so utterly rare to come out of his mouth that he almost blushed. Almost.

He skidded around the corner leading to the Hospital Wing, now on the third floor and thoroughly exhausted.

 _Maybe I'll have to be admitted, too._  he thought wearily.

Dismissing his thoughts, Cedric nearly ran into the room's double doors in his haste. Breathing heavily, he pushed open the heavy entrance with his shoulder, again thankful for the benefits of Quidditch.

"Mr. Diggory, I must ask you what you think you're d- oh my!"

Madam Pomfrey then seemed to forget he was a student and thought him her personal assistant instead.

"Place her on the bed," she gasped, staring into Hermione's pale face. "Quickly now, and gently, boy."

He did as he was told, no longer grudging the witch for her professional manner – assistant be damned; as long as Hermione would be okay, he would do whatever he could to help. Her presence no longer in his arms, Cedric felt strangely empty but shrugged off the feeling for later analysis.

 _Merlin,_  he thought with amusement,  _I'm starting to sound like Granger._

"She's suffering serious magical depletion," stated the medi-witch, brandishing her wand over the still body of Hermione laying on the crisp cotton sheets of the bed.

Pomfrey gave him a look.

"What?" he frowned, trying to decipher her expression. Did she think  _he_  was the cause? He'd come across Granger, worried for her, been upset at her silence, and had run as quickly as he could to get her here before things got worse. After all that, she'd thought  _he_  was the reason the girl he felt for lay so innocently still on the bed before them?

The nurse was silent.

"You can't honestly think  _I_  did this?" he exclaimed, although he felt like shouting at the woman. The outrage he felt at the clear assumption written all over her face nearly made him want to grab the Gryffindor and snog her senseless, showing he was definitely not trying to do her in. Or maybe something less drastic, like throwing something. But that would probably not support the innocent theory.

"Tell me what happened." Pomfrey said, gazing at Hermione with what he thought was awe, but upon closer inspection seemed to be relief.

"I was running to-" he paused, thinking quickly as Pomfrey's head snapped to him, "-the Hufflepuff common room from Arithmancy on the seventh floor, and I stopped to catch a breath," he looked to Hermione then, her chest rising and falling slowly, and he could see the sweat dripping down her neck, "then Hermione stumbled out of nowhere and collapsed, vomiting. I started to talk to her but she passed out. I thought bringing her here would be the best thing to do." Cedric took a deep, shuddering breath, not taking his eyes away from the lids of Hermione.

"You did the right thing, Diggory. Any longer and she may have… well, she would be very lucky to be alive, that's for sure." Her eyes softened as she looked at the girl, soon shuffling away, mumbling something about a potion that needed to be brewed. Cedric heard 'Snape' and decided that was enough, turning to a parallel bed and grasping the back of one of the nearby chairs. Its legs scraped against the cold stone beneath him and he turned it, plonking himself down roughly. He sighed.

The problems were never-ending. In fact, if Cedric didn't know any better, he would say trouble surrounded Granger, and ambushed her at every turn. Fortunately for his state of mind, he did know better – danger followed  _Potter_  everywhere. It was just a shame Granger happened to be his friend.

He was in deep. Too deep, he knew.

In fact, if he really and truly admitted his feelings to himself, he's say he was almost in  _love_  with Granger. But no, that couldn't be. He was two years her senior, and much too wrong for her. She was intelligent, beautiful, witty, stubborn to a fault, innocent – oh, so,  _so_  innocent – proud, brave, powerful, full of logic, and just so  _wrong_.

He cursed his morals. Why couldn't he like someone his own age? Someone stupid, boring and with a humour so horrible he had to practice his fake laugh in bed at night. Why couldn't he be shallow, like most of the other boys his own age?

Cho Chang was there. She was available. She wanted him.

She was pretty, he supposed. Smart, as were most Ravenclaws. Very stubborn, so much so that he felt he had to whack the truth into her (although he would never do that). She made him laugh occasionally, and she was certainly proud of her achievements.

But she was so normal it was painful.

Cedric needed someone different, someone unique. So used to the standard normal he was expected to date, he needed something  _fresh_.

Unfortunately for the girl before him, she happened to be all those things, with even a couple of bonuses.

Damn him; damn his choices, damn his life. He should be sent straight to Azkaban for this.

He grasped her hand tightly, and felt a slight disappointment at the lack of response. Well, of course, she was unconscious. Cedric felt like a silly little school girl thinking that just his mere presence would quicken her recovery. He brushed the locks of hair out of her face that were tickling her cheeks, still pale. She did not shift or move toward his land like he was hoping, and so gave up for the time being – content with the faint warmness of her hand in his.

"Hermione!" a yell came from behind him. Cedric turned so abruptly he nearly fell from his own chair. He looked to see Professor McGonagall striding into the Hospital Wing, Potter and the youngest Weasley male trotting behind her. The yell had come from Potter, and as usual, Weasley decided to come to the wrong conclusion. Typical, in Cedric's opinion.

"What did you do to her?" the redhead snarled, advancing on Cedric who was still sitting down, Hermione's hand in his.

Cedric, although fully convinced he could take Weasley, was thankful for the interference of the professor.

"Weasley, enough. This is not Diggory's doing." she said sternly, thrusting her hand out to stop Weasley from walking further. Cedric almost felt like smirking, but knew that would do more bad than good. Weasley had an incredibly short temper, and Granger would never forgive him if he had a brawl with the boy.

But he was a sixth year – much too old to start a fight with a  _fifteen_  year old.

Unless it was Malfoy, he guessed.

Potter then rushed to her side, and when he glanced at their clasped hands, Cedric dropped it from his grip like he'd been stung. It certainly felt like it.

He really wished he were Potter right now – touching her forehead, clutching at her hand with desperation, and able to do all this without a care in the world. Weasley stood by awkwardly, and it was obvious he had the same problem as Cedric. Cedric glared at the boy.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling back in with a tray of all sorts of goblets, steaming, frosting, rattling…

"Move out of the way, move out of my way!" she exclaimed, eyes on the tray so as to keep it steady.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Minerva, but this many visitors is  _too_  many." Pomfrey walked in front of Cedric's chair and pushed Potter away, which gave Cedric a sick satisfaction that he chose not to act on. Her hands were shaking, Cedric noted with a frown, and her face was nothing but determined.

"Madam Pomfr-" Cedric stopped half-way, and he rose from his chair in horror.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, garnering the attention of a small female first year he'd seen before in his common room, in a bed across the room. She looked very alarmed. Potter looked between him and Pomfrey, panic clear on his face. Weasley didn't seem to care, and McGonagall was watching them both curiously.

"You'll strip her of her magic!" he went to pull the medi-witch away but Potter pulled him back.

"P- Potter!" he spat, "What are you doing? She'll be a Muggle for the rest of her life!" Cedric looked to the younger man for support but received an irritated expression in return. Did they not see? This potion, something he'd seen in his sixth year Advanced Potions book, was designed to weaken the powers of the one who ingested it, rendering them almost unable to perform magic.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Diggory!" Madam Pomfrey scolded over her shoulder, pouring the potion down Hermione's throat. "I know what I'm doing, no doubt much more than you do."

Cedric was still fuming, unbelieving of the inaction of the other two students and one professor.

"This potion will strip Miss Granger of some of her magic, but it is all part of the recovery method. I'm not destroying her magic, I am simply extracting it and containing it elsewhere until her body can deal with its magnitude once more. She has suffered quite a lot of damage to her magical core, and unfortunately for Miss Granger in this case, she has too much magic for her own good. She needs to separate herself from the magic once more." Pomfrey put down the goblet she was holding onto the tray and picked up another, now steaming one, touching it to Hermione's lips and tipping it.

"Madam Pomfrey, what do you mean by 'separating herself'?" Potter asked, and Cedric was surprised by his perceptiveness. He'd been wondering the same thing himself, but felt it wrong to express his concerns in the presence of the fourth years. Maybe Hermione didn't want them to know...

"When all wizards and witches grow into their magic, at the age of eleven, they are separate to their magic. That is to say, their bodies are Muggle, and the magic they perform comes purely from their magical core." She paused, setting down the last goblet and turning to all four of them, "As one grows older, the magic in their core starts to integrate with their Muggle body, but this process is very gradual. Most only have  _partial_  integration by the time they die, but there are cases…" she trailed off, looking at Hermione with an odd expression. Cedric looked to the girl too, as if she had all the answers. Which, knowing her, she probably did.

"Poppy, does Miss Granger happen to fall under one of these 'cases'?" McGonagall asked slowly, trying to catch the nurse's gaze. Her face showed her worry about the situation, and Pomfrey's returning look was not comforting to Cedric.

"Surprisingly, yes." she hesitated before turning back to Hermione, still not moving, on the bed, "I don't know why she did it, but Miss Granger… she has merged her magic and her body together so intricately… that is why she reacted so badly to whatever was done to her – her magic was attacked, directly or indirectly, I don't know." Pomfrey pulled our her wand, ready to cast a spell but waiting to finish her explanation, "Regardless, her body is connected so strongly to her magic that when the latter was attacked… well, it was the same as if her body had been. That is what we see before us." She began her spell casting, muttering Latin underneath her breath to counter the effects of Hermione's attack.

"But Madam Pomfrey," Ron suddenly asked, surprising them all by his presence, "How did she merge both of them?"

It was almost comedic the way all their heads turned from Ron to Madam Pomfrey all at once, but no one was laughing. Cedric was surprised by Weasley's question, at first not even caring how she did it, but just that it could be reversed and she would be better again. Of course, Cedric knew nothing was ever that easy.

"I've only seen such a magic and body link in one other person, and even then I told no one but the Headmaster."

"Please," Cedric spoke up, unable to let this slide. He needed this. Information like this would give him the answers he wanted. He would be one step closer to solving the puzzle, "Please explain."

Pomfrey paused a moment, eyes flickering between Weasley and Cedric before she sighed, resigning herself to explaining what she didn't want to.

"A connection as impenetrable as that comes from one thing, and one thing only: meddling with the Dark Arts." the medi-witch sighed at the looks on their faces, knowing they would be outraged at her comment.

"Hermione would never do that!" Potter exclaimed.

"Miss Granger? I don't believe it." McGonagall scoffed.

Weasley continued the outbursts, "You're wrong."

Cedric remained silent, shock plastered all over his face, body frozen with horror.

"There's only been one other person I've seen with such a connection,"

Cedric stood up from his previously reclaimed seat, the chair scraping against the stone floor and making the others cringe. He was staring at the unconscious Gryffindor fourth year with an almost repulsed expression.

"Lord Voldemort."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TALK ABOUT DRAMATIC


	13. Fate And Fire

She could hear them. She could hear them all. And she could do nothing to stop their inevitable blunder.

Her limbs felt heavy, deadbolted to the cotton sheets beneath her, crumpled but still comfortable. She must have been there long if they lacked the usual starch-like quality of the Hospital Wing. On that thought, Hermione wondered just how long she'd been stuck, trapped in her own body, aware of everything around her.

She'd woken up only minutes ago, it seemed, but it had felt like centuries since her eyelids had fluttered, but remained closed. Instead of seeing black – nothingness – she'd seen the back of her eyelids, bright blood red, and so reassuring to her that she had heaved a great sigh of relief. Even then, they hadn't bothered to notice her heartbeat pick up the pace. She had tried to move, even just slightly, but to no avail. Her body was motionless, just as it was when she was unconscious. Her mind was hazy, like she'd just woken up from a seven day sleep. Hermione felt the tell-tale signs of grogginess emerging, and threatening to pull her under the cloak of blackness looming above.

Hermione resisted. There was no way she was going back to that hell. Of course, not literally, given she was completely unaware of everything and, by all purposes,  _asleep_. Regardless of her love for the action, she could not stand it any longer.

When she was released, she'd give him a good throttling. Or maybe just a slap. A nice cutting insult, at least.

After all, he deserved it.

Attacking her like that – what was he playing at? If he wanted to know, why didn't he gain her trust and trick it out of her? That way, both parties would be happy – him with his information, and Hermione – fooled by the Headmaster and completely unbeknownst to it.

But no, that wasn't his style anymore. Now he went about everyday assaulting Hogwarts' top students just to be  _in on the gossip_.

Well, she guessed her predicament could hardly be labelled gossip. No, it was far from it. In fact, she almost wished it were gossip, just so she could go to her boys with a great big smile on her face and scoff at their accusations.

"What are you talking about?" she'd say, rolling her eyes, "I thought mere highschool gossip beneath you two."

But of course, there was the slight problem that she was currently unable to move herself from her lying position on the bed she was in, let alone talk to them both.

Her right ear twitched. She could hear something in the distance, a low murmur…

"It's okay,"

A slight pressure on her left hand, a tickling sensation running up her arm. She wanted to shiver at the feeling, but her body did not comply. As was expected.

"I forgive you, Hermione."

The voice was deep. Deeper than her two friends', that's for sure. It was huskier, as well; like it had been given a run for its money and yelled raw. She liked it, she decided. Well, her subconscious decided, at least. Her mind was too busy trying to identify the voice's owner.

_Forgive me for what?_

"I can understand the want… the temptation," it continued on, and Hermione felt her heart tighten at the disappointment clearly evident behind the restrained politeness of the words.

"But Hermione," she felt ashamed just by the tone used, "I just don't understand the  _need_. You're so far above all that. Yet you stooped so low, anyway? Are you really that desperate? I never figured you for one to give up, and yet… here you are."

Well, Hermione was officially confused. She was desperate for what, exactly? And Merlin yes, she never gave up, and yet the voice implied failure at some point, ending up in her admittance to the Hospital Wing-

Oh.

_Oh._

Well that was embarrassing. And very, very alarming.

But why did Cedric forgive her? She hadn't done anything wrong. At least, she thought she hadn't. The last thing she remembered was the manipulative old man invading her one place of secrecy, and then the physical repercussions she'd suffered because of it. She vaguely remembered Cedric, but not so much that she could remember what he said or did. Just that he was there, somehow.

So why did she do what, exactly? Hermione wanted to scoff, but caught herself when she realised it was impossible in her state.

There was silence. No more murmurs from the boy she figured to be on her left side.

Her hand tingled, and she felt a reassuring squeeze that held another quality she couldn't quite pin-point.

She lay there, doing nothing. But she felt everything. The surreally smooth sheets beneath her, her toes brushing the itchy woollen blanket at the end of her bed, the coldness she suddenly felt at the release of her hand by her visitor, and even the horrid taste of a potion sitting at the back of her throat. Hermione could not imagine what she looked to an outsider – probably haggard, pale, and definitely something reminiscent of a bird's nest on top of her head.

Good reason to be, though. A mental attack was rather strenuous. She'd read about them, of course – Legilimency invasions. One bored Sunday had seen to that, and she'd spent the whole evening reading on the topic, making her extremely late back to the dorms and therefore terribly tired the next day.

The next morning, she'd realised it hadn't been a very good decision, but now she saw the benefits right before her.

She wasn't supposed to have reacted that way. Not so violently, at least. In fact, they only caused slight headaches in an average person. But then again, Hermione had never been average, so she guessed she should have seen it coming.

Even then, she'd vomited. Everywhere. And several times. Then she'd proceeded to black out until she was here, now. The air was still, and she could smell food – a chicken broth that was a favourite at home with her parents. They always gave it to her when she was ill, and just thinking of it made her believe that she must have been seeing things – or really, smelling things. There was no way the house elves could have made an exact replica of her mother's warm broth.

 _Open your eyes,_  she thought.

_Come on, just open them. It's not that hard._

_Just a small movement of the eyelids. Nothing too difficult._

She could still see red, in the literal sense.

Her hand felt that warm, rough pressure again, and she so desperately wanted to squeeze back. She tried to force herself, with everything in her being, to just clench that hand a little, just so Cedric could know she was thankful, and she was there.

But no. Things never went Hermione's way, and so she was as limp as a ragdoll.

"Hermione!" the yell was piercing, and she wanted to wince with the assault on her ears. The were a scuffle coming from the chair next to her, and Hermione felt rather than heard the panicked footsteps of her friends.

"What did you do to her?" Hermione could just imagine the sneer on Ron's face and all of a sudden felt sorry for Cedric. She really had to talk to the boys about that – he wasn't the bad guy. At all. If anything, she was the evil and he was the good, and somehow the evil had fallen in love with the good-

"Weasley, enough. This is not Diggory's doing." She remembered why McGonagall was her favourite professor, and thanked her profusely in her head.

She felt the hot, coarse skin of Cedric move away, and felt an inexplicable feeling of loss. It was soon replaced with surprise as she felt the cool, clammy feeling of Harry's hand on her own, and another hand on her forehead, brushing her hair away from her face.

Then Madam Pomfrey came in, bustling around, pouring more disgustingly horrid potions down her throat, and went on to imply that Hermione was the next Dark Lady in-training.

She wanted to snort at the prospect, and felt strangely offended that they all believed the misconception so easily. She guessed she had the intelligence to worm her way through the Dark Arts, but in no way was she immune.

She'd learnt that lesson the hard way. What was worse is that they could so readily believe she'd created her own demise.

"There's only been one other person I've seen with such a connection,"

Her ears tuned back into the conversation, and one of the fingers on her right hand twitched.

"Lord Voldemort."

_Merlin._

So now she was pretty much Voldemort's apprentice. She may as well present herself to the madman and demand he mentor her in some sick perverse way that would inevitably mean she would kill him and take his place without him suspecting a thing.

Definitely not Slytherin enough.

Hermione heard the hurried footsteps of Cedric retreating and convinced herself that he was just in shock. He was her friend… and definitely someone she confided in. He'd accepted everything so far, and so he should have stuck by her in this.

Right?

"So… what you're saying here is that Hermione's magic is the same as… Voldemort's?" Harry struggled to get out the question, and Hermione felt sorry for him. What a load to put on someone who was number one on the Dark wizard's hit list. Not only did he have to worry about himself now, as well as the Triwizard Tournament, but he had to worry about the growing corruption of his best friend.

Well, she already had her mind set on avoiding said corruption, and so she'd placate him accordingly when she awoke from the paralysing slumber that seemed self-inflicted.

"In short, yes." Pomfrey paused, and Hermione imagined the pursing of her lips in thought. She'd been here enough times in the past school year to know the witch's mannerisms quite well.

"I can't say I am terribly surprised," Hermione was shocked at the tone of the Transfiguration Professor's voice, "Miss Granger has always been bright, exceeding everyone's expectations. It was only a matter of time before she searched for something  _more_ , something challenging."

"I thought the Dark Arts was the easy way out." Ron grumbled from the end of her bed, and Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at his prejudice.

"Not always, Mr Weasley. It really depends on the person and the branch of Dark magic which they pursue. Knowing Miss Granger, I can safely say she must have chosen one of the more difficult paths." Professor McGonagall had that unnatural talent to make you feel guilty when you hadn't done anything wrong. And Hermione felt just that – guilty.

"Maybe she didn't choose."

_Thank you, Harry._

"Potter?" Pomfrey prompted.

She felt the rustle as Harry turned away from her and most likely stared at the other three people in the room. Cedric was long gone, and Hermione was frustrated that she'd have to repeat this to the sixth year.

"I know Hermione, and she wouldn't do this unless she had a good reason."

Her breath was incredibly loud, and she felt that each intake of air was useless. Lungs were clogged with what felt like lead, but she knew she was perfectly able to breathe.

"What are you suggesting, Potter?" McGonagall asked, and Hermione knew she was curious.

"Hermione has a reason for this. She'll tell us when she wakes up, along with who attacked her."

"It was probably Malfoy, that slimy git." Ron announced, and Hermione heard the disciplining of both Pomfrey and McGonagall before she finally succumbed to the blackness above.

 

\---

 

It was five days after the 'incident', as Hermione liked to call it, before she woke up. She'd woken from an actual sleep, eyelids heavy but open, and sleep in the corner of her eyes. She'd rubbed her eyes and rolled over on her side to prolong her drowsy state before she realised she was moving.

She could move.

That quelled the paralysis fears she'd been having the past few days, when even Professor Snape had come in to determine what type of magic she was under. Even he hadn't been able to revive her.

"Miss Granger must have been too absorbed with the prospect of finally achieving something worthwhile to not realise the dangers it posed." He had stated with a tone suggesting he was talking about something as inane as the spring rain pelting down outside. She felt the prods of his wand and his incoherent mutterings before he told Madam Pomfrey he would be of no help. She heard the characteristic swish of his cloak, and mentally laughed at the image it created. Secretly, she was thankful that the Potions Professor had no hand in treating her – no matter how much respect she had for him, her leniency only stretched for far, and she knew that he would have lengthened her stay in the Hospital Wing if he felt so inclined.

She felt inexorably weak, and knew it was the fact she hadn't so much as jolted since she'd been attacked that Wednesday. From what she'd deduced from her friendly visits, it was Sunday, and Hermione was sick of lying here, doing nothing, when she could be in class taking notes, asking questions, and completing assignments to her famous excellent standard.

She tried to call for the nurse, but all that came from her mouth was a strange sort of garble. Her mouth felt detached from her body, and she was annoyed at the further complications of her conditions. Letting out a light sigh, she saw a goblet next to her bed, empty and just waiting to create some noise. Lifting her left arm, she reached across herself slowly and with deliberation before loosely grasping the goblet. She threw it away from her as strongly as she could, and cringed at the clattering it made as it moved across the grey stone floor.

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, looking frazzled and definitely like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. Hermione gulped silently.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on?" she exclaimed, glancing around the rather empty Hospital Wing. She was so used to seeing Hermione comatose that she took no notice of her opened eyes and searching expression. Her body was positioned strangely as she had collapsed as soon as the goblet had left her hands, exhausted and too weak to catch the nurse's attention.

She attempted to speak once more.

"Mah-ughh.. mm… Poh-m…fe-y." her voice was raspy as her eyes widened and sweat formed on her brow. She was feeling hot all of a sudden, and completely uncomfortable with her arm stuck underneath her, elbow digging into her ribs. She groaned unattractively.

Pomfrey's gaze snapped to the fourth year, and she stood in shock for a few moments before bustling over in a hurry, mumbling something about how it was 'about time'.

She grabbed a goblet, full and with what looked be frost forming on the handle, passing it to Hermione and ordering her to drink up.

"Not… strong…" She felt like an imbecile not being able to do anything by herself. If Hermione was anything, she was independent. Having to rely on someone for the most basic needs was just plain embarrassing, and Hermione almost wished she were back in the trap, unable to move and not expected to fend for herself. She was rarely taken care of, and the simple act of a simple tuck into bed was a luxury for her. She wasn't six years old anymore, but it sure felt comforting to be looked after.

The nurse seemed to understand her struggle and lifted the goblet to her lips. Hermione gulped it down reluctantly, almost gagging at the foul taste.

"This should strengthen those muscles. Give it a few seconds to take affect, and you should be able to talk and move as normal." The witch  _tsk_ ed to herself, "I must tell Minerva. Albus seems uninterested in the matter."

Hermione's hands clenched at the name, and her eyes hardened. Of course Dumbledore wasn't interested in what had happened to her – he'd caused the whole thing. There was no mystery to solve, and certainly no questions he felt needed to be answered. For all she knew, Dumbledore was finding ways to expel her from the school so he would never see her again. But she knew the old man better than that. He would avoid her, and when the time came, he would act as innocent as he could to alleviate suspicion amongst staff and definitely Harry.

Harry. She felt sorry for her friend. He had no idea how much he had been used over the years, and definitely no idea how much he had yet to be manipulated. She understood Dumbledore's motives, she did. That didn't mean she had to approve of them.

During her musings, it seemed Pomfrey had somehow alerted the Professor, and McGonagall was suddenly  _there_ , and suddenly very loud.

"Miss Granger!" she almost shouted, although it sounded more like a shriek coming from the old woman. "You're awake!"

Hermione flinched, her ears sensitive regardless of the use throughout her comatose state. She looked down at herself now, feeling stronger and definitely less exhausted. Someone had dressed her in a hospital gown, and Hermione wondered briefly if Cedric had been present for that little escapade.

She blushed profusely, which she was sure looked unusual in the current situation. She tucked her head to her chest, hair falling forward to cover her flushed cheeks.

This really needed to stop. Her infatuation was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. He was years her senior, and it would be absolutely absurd for her to even humour the idea of them together. She was so attracted to him. He was everything she desired in a man, and she was sure she could cope with the age difference, regardless of the disapproval of others. She was mature for her age, as many adults had stated in her presence, and she knew that she could never date someone her own age or younger. She wasn't that type of girl. Hermione wanted age, experience. She wanted someone who was able to deal with whatever came their way.

Not to mention Cedric was bright, definitely had a sense of humour, but still maintained a serious-when-one-needs-to-be air. He was caring, loyal, and laid-back; something she seriously lacked and needed in a partner simply for balance purposes. He wasn't stubborn at all with his friends – quite a pushover, in fact – but with her, he was different. He was always pushing, challenging, provoking her; and that was a good thing. Hermione needed a push. She knew she could do so much with herself. She had such ability… and so did he. Together, they could achieve so much. So what was stopping her?

Everything and nothing.

It was a peculiar situation. One she'd tortured herself over countless times. But it always came down to the same thing:

From what she could see, this so-called 'relationship' was completely one-sided. One man's game, one man's goal.

Or woman, in this case.

She was alone in her feelings, she was sure. What had ever made Cedric desire her? She was no one, nobody to him. Just a girl with secrets, and his curiosity was getting the better of him. He wanted to know what she was doing, what she planning that was so un-Gryffindor in its nature.

Anyone would want answers.

Hermione sighed to herself. She was making excuses for him. He was just like everyone else, probably. Maybe. Most likely.

She sighed again.

Staring so intently into space, Hermione didn't realise the arrival of Harry had come, and for a second wondered how he knew of her awakening so quickly.

Who was she kidding? This castle had spies all over the place. As soon as she's woken up, someone had known and definitely alerted the Headmaster. Dumbledore had probably known before Pomfrey herself. She couldn't say she was surprised.

"What did you do? What happened to you, Hermione? Are you alright, are you feeling okay? Hermione? Hermione! Answer me!"

She jerked out of her trance. Being in such a state for a mere five or so days had done no wonders for her concentration. Maybe it would be like this for a while. Hermione didn't think she cared.

"Harry," her tone took on its normal know-it-all quality. She really had to get rid of that. "I'm perfectly healthy. Really, you'd think I'd been attacked by Death Eaters or something." She rolled her eyes, feigning contentment.

"That's not funny, Hermione." Harry said, staring into her eyes. She looked away, fearful that he'd guess at what was troubling her.

"Who did this to you?" he inquired, trying to catch her eyes. She waited a moment, the only sounds being their breathing and the slight shuffling of Madam Pomfrey in her office.

"No one."

As soon as she said it, Harry scoffed in a manner that was very much like herself. She was surprised at the likeness before stopping that thought altogether. She didn't want to think that her know-it-all voice of reason had been substituted in a short five days. She didn't want to think that she was so replaceable, that her voice and her ideas and her actions had such little affect on her friends that she was simply background noise. No. She really didn't want to think about that.

"Really, Hermione – you're going to have to do better than that." She locked eyes with him, and couldn't look away. His eyes were so bright, such a brilliant emerald green that she had to admire them. Harry didn't really hold his emotions on his sleeve. But she couldn't deny that his eyes told you everything you needed to know. Maybe that's why Dumbledore was always so intent on having eye contact with her best friend. He was so readable that way. Oh what a pawn he was.

She stiffened, scared. Hermione swore she just saw a glimpse of – what? It couldn't be.

His eyes had flashed red.

That was surely something for late analysis.

"I feel down the stairs." she answered lamely, and she knew it wouldn't cut it. She'd stumbled down  _some_  stairs, so she guessed it was a half-truth. She was never going to tell the whole truth, though. Who would believe her anyway? Dumbledore attacking a student was just unthinkable. Let alone Hermione Granger.

"I don't believe you."

"Well you're going to have to, Harry, because it's the truth."  _Lie._

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, as if to say 'we'll talk about this later'. She ignored the look and glanced down at the sheet below her. She was sitting on top of them, back against the pillow, resting against the headboard. Obviously no one had thought to cover her so she'd stay warm. Her toes were numb.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, although there was nothing awkward about the situation. McGonagall interrupted the moment.

"Miss Granger," she stalked up to the two fourth years, "You have to report what happened." The Professor removed her hat and looked at the girl in sympathy.

"I don't need to," Hermione snapped, fed up of the pitying looks and fake sympathy. She realised her tone and reigned back her hostility, speaking with forced pleasantness, "I wasn't attacked, Professor."

McGonagall looked affronted, and then plain confused. "But Miss Granger, Poppy said explicitly that you were attacked. Heavens, child, your magic had to be taken and restored. Surely such an intelligent witch as yourself realises the implications of such a thing?" McGonagall seemed almost hysterical, and Hermione frowned at what she already knew.

"I know that, Professor. Trust me, no one did this," she chanced a glance at Harry and saw him glaring at her. She stayed resolute in her decision, "This was my own doing." She held her head high and crossed her arms, a posture of stubbornness that she had learned from her father. She's first seen him use the stance when, at the age of thirteen – coincidentally after her first horrible year at Hogwarts – she had asked whether she could go to a party across the road. Despite her attempts to convince her father, he'd been increasingly stubborn and told her no, again and again. She'd just wanted to fit in. She was a teenager now, and thought she should be treated like one.

Thank Merlin he'd been so steadfast on her not going; she'd finally seen the light years later.

Hermione would thank Richard Granger for the rest of her life. Who knows what would have happened to her.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, surprised, "You cannot let your attacker get away with this. They will be punished."

She smiled wryly to herself. So ironic that McGonagall was saying this without any knowledge of her mind invader. If she knew, of course, she'd be defending the Headmaster's actions. Oh, such double standard. Now she understood why Slytherins hated Gryffindors so much. And she could definitely relate.

"No, Professor," she said clearly, smirking, "I don't think they will."

The Professor looked nonplussed, but Hermione ignored her, instead turning her top half in Harry's direction.

"What's that you've got there?" she questioned, motioning to the folded paper in Harry's left hand.

He jolted, looking down at the paper with indifference.

"Oh," he said, staring at the paper, bringing it in front of his face, "It seems like you're two-timing Krum with Ron, after years of friendship and only a couple of months of dating. We're also having an affair." He snorted with derision, "Thought you'd like to know."

There was silence.

Harry and Hermione burst into laughter, and McGonagall pursed her lips in amusement.

Tears leaking from her eyes, Hermione knew that regardless of what happened from now on, she'd always find escape in even the smallest of things.

Like the sad attempts of Rita Skeeter to destroy her.

 

\---

 

Over the next few weeks, Hermione stayed in the Hospital Wing. Disgruntled by this, she hadn't been in a particularly good mood since her awakening. This was worsened by the hate mail she'd received almost daily now.

"You know, I don't know why Pomfrey lets you open these," Ron said off-handedly one afternoon after a particularly taxing double Defense Against The Dark Arts with Professor Moody. By the sounds of it, Hermione was thankful she'd missed out on that certain lesson.

"And why do you say that?" she asked as she read through what looked to be a letter from a fan girl of Harry's. Judging by the language, the girl couldn't be older than fifteen, her own age. She scoffed at the empty threats presented – making her look uglier than she already was, destroying her reputation…

Hermione didn't really care.

Rolling her eyes, she threw the letter into the pile of already-opened death threats and moved onto the next one. It was considerably bulky.

"Well, come on, Hermione," Ron said, staring at her incredulously while Harry read through the latest edition of the  _Daily Prophet_ , "What if one of those things has as hex on it? You never know what you're going to get with crazy Harry Potter fans," he stated, giving Harry, who was rolling his eyes as he flipped a page, a side glance, "Or, even worse, Krum fans." He gave a grunt. He was the epitome of laziness, slumped in a chair next to her bed, head lolled back, and grunting like a caveman.

So Ron.

Maybe she should have listened to him, because at that moment her hand flicked open the envelope and she reached inside to grasp the letter. Her hand grazed something and all of a sudden it was everywhere.

"Eugh!"

A yellowish green liquid seeped from the envelope, covering Hermione's hands and causing red boils to erupt all over her hands. She made a noise of disgust with some pain in there as well, and held her hands away from her body. Both Ron and Harry had stood up and moved closer.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Harry yelled behind his shoulder, turning back and looking at her worriedly. Hermione's face was scrunched with pain as she looked at her hands, now marred with ugly boils.

"It really hurts!" she whined, on the verge of sobbing. The pain was immense. Not as bad as Dumbledore's mind invasion, but very near. That was an all-consuming pain; this was merely centred in her hands. Regardless, it looked like she was wearing some sort of sickly bubbly pair of gloves, and the pus coming out of the welts made her want to gag.

Pomfrey rushed in, hair unkempt and red in the face. She took one look at Hermione and turned straight back around. Ron and Harry looked gob-smacked, but Hermione was sure the nurse was just getting something to treat her. And she was right when the nurse re-entered with a jar of forest green paste. She bustled to Hermione's side, shoving away the two fourth year boys, and began to apply the paste.

She closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She heard a distinct "I told you so, Hermione." before she blacked out.

Hours later, hands slightly stinging and now bandaged, Hermione woke up. She blinked her hears blearily and lifted her head off her pillow. A figure was next to her bed, but her eyesight so blurry, she had trouble identifying them.

"Everyone's talking, you know." they said, screeching the chair closer and placing their hands on the bed after dropping the paper they were reading on the floor.

"About what?" she croaked, trying to sit up without using her hands, which proved to be very difficult. Rough, calloused hands came forth and position themselves under her arms, and gently shifted her body so she was leaning against her pillow, head on the board behind the bed. She felt the tickle of the person's hair on her cheek and breathed in.

Smells came at her, aromas she'd dreamed about day in, day out. Scents consumed her senses, all-consuming and oh so very good. Sensual, she thought. Musky. Distinctly male. She inhaled sharply; something woody, memories of afternoons on the beach, cloudy but humid and sand running between her toes; a gentle breeze rustling her hair; dreaming of toast smothered in soft honey, dripping… and that final hit that made her catch her breath – mown grass, fresh, untouched, and undeniably heavenly.

"Cedric," she breathed, eyes still closed from her inhalation. He pulled back and they fluttered open, wide and darker than before.

He gave her a small smile, with a tiny hint of relief. "You're the next big thing, it seems," He sat back in the chair, leaning on an arm and still smiling that melt-worthy smile.

"How do you mean?" she asked innocently, staring at him, eating him up with her eyes.

It must nearly have been  _that_  time of the month.

"Well," he started, shifting in his seat, placing his hands on the top of his thighs. Her eyes lingered there a moment, "First, you're attacked for apparently no reason and a little first year Hufflepuff overhears, tells her friends and, by association, tells the whole school." He paused for a breath, smirking now, "Second, Rita Skeeter writes an article detailing your love life and all those involved, giving out information like where you  _consummate_  your relationships and how many bets you have going on about whether Potter will  _die_  in the Tournament." She raised her eyebrows in surprise, suppressing the pink flush threatening to overtake her cheeks at the sex life comment, "And third, you get mail filled with so much hate that it prolongs your stay in the hospital wing by a week." He sighed, "Really Granger – when does drama  _not_  surround you?" Cedric sounded exasperated, but she heard the joking undertone and gave a grin.

"You should know, Cedric – never." She winked at him, so unlike her usual self, and wondered where all this confidence came from. She turned her head to the bedside table, seeing an empty flask with a label so clear her grin disappeared immediately.

 _PEPPER-UP_.

Well, that solved that mystery.

"How are you feeling?" his voice was soft and hesitant, and she looked to him, seeing the gentle features and feeling an unusual amount of guilt.

" _I forgive you, Hermione."_

She looked away.

"Not nearly as tired. The hands aren't helping, though." she held up the white lumps for emphasis.

"I can't imagine they would." He replied, eyes glimpsing her wrapped up hands and flicking back up to her face. She saw him gaze at her intently from the corner of her eyes.

She dropped her head onto the headboard with a  _thud_ , and blew a lock of stringy hair away from her face.

"What have I missed?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling in a bored manner.

"Rumour has it," she snorted, "that you're a Dark witch now. Almost all of Gryffindor are afraid of you, or, if you like to put it another way – resentful. Hufflepuff want nothing to do with you, and Ravenclaw are simply gleeful that their competition is out of action." He smiled wryly. She continued her careful perusal of the high ceiling.

"And what of Slytherin?" she questioned.

He chuckled to himself, leaning forward, "The same as always – disgusted and not even entertaining the idea that Hermione Granger could possibly be a Dark witch."

Hermione grinned at the ceiling once more.

They were both silent for a moment, content with the quiet.

Cedric sighed, and she looked over to him for only the second time that day.

"Why did you do it?" he demanded.

She opened her mouth to answer like she had with Harry but paused mid-way. Cedric wouldn't even humour her with the excuse.

"Do what, exactly?" she asked. She needed to clarify just what he was implying before she went on to say something especially incriminating and that Skeeter woman somehow overheard and filled _Witch Weekly_ with news of Hermione Granger's ultimate demise.

"I think you know perfectly well what." he said, and Hermione could sense the underlying warning in his tone. She really wished he would just be direct with her. State the problem straight forward so they could discuss it, resolve it and be on their merry ways.

"I think I don't." she replied with, feeling cheeky but keeping a great poker face.

"Oh come on, Granger. It's so easy. Pomfrey told us all about how your magic is merging with your body, and finally your soul. She compared you to bloody Lord Voldemort for Merlin's sake! There's not much to say to that, so can you maybe explain yourself? Shed light on the situation? Or somehow tell me something that'll make the whole thing just one big ruse." He'd stood up now, fists clenched and hair messy.

"I think you're deluding yourself."

She had to break it to him somehow.

"Am I really?"

"Yes," she said sharply, narrowing her eyes, "Don't you see? It's the only way!"

"The only way?" he nearly roared, almost right in her face. Ever so stubborn, she didn't back down, "The only way to what? Kill people? What is wrong with you?" he exclaimed, looking away and running his hands through his hair in aggravation. He rubbed his hands over his face, weary.

"What are you on about, Cedric?" Hermione asked wildly, her frown taking over her features, "I'm a Death Seer," she whispered feverishly, "You know that – it's inevitable…"

"Inevitable?" he seemed to be speaking to himself now, his voice a mere mutter and pacing beside her bed. She followed his form with her eyes, waiting for an explosion.

He whirled around, facing the bed and stalking toward her.

"Don't you see? This is ruining you. This Death Seer crap is changing you, merging your magic with your body and making you  _evil_." He took a deep breath, "Can you  _see_?" he whispered brokenly.

She shook her head, harder and harder until she was dizzy.

"No, no, you don't see, Cedric." She stopped with her shaking, and locked her eyes on his, "I'm helping someone. I'm going to save them. I can't let them die."

Hermione was distraught. Her mind was begging her to blurt it out – tell the Hufflepuff who she was going to save, just who she couldn't let die. But she couldn't – no way, the Butterfly Effect was very real, and if she did that the consequences would be enormous.

"Hermione," she started at the use of her first name spoken from his soft pink lips. He put his large hands on her shoulders, burning her with his touch and making her breaths shallow, "It's meant to be. There's a reason Dumbledore didn't interfere with Moaning Myrtle's death all those years ago – she was supposed to die."

Her head started to shake again, and Cedric moved his hands from her shoulders to her cheeks, holding her head in place and glaring into her eyes. He jolted her head only slightly, hoping to bring some sense into her and avoid the eventual hysteria she would indulge in.

"It had a meaning, Hermione," he whispered, his breath fanning over her face. Her eyes seared with unshed tears and Hermione refused to let them fall in front of Cedric. "Everything has a meaning. What happens, happens. Whoever dies is  _meant_  to die." His eyes moved back and forth between hers, searching her expression for some hint, some clue.

Her face crumpled.

"You idiot," she sobbed, leaning her forehead against his, "You complete and utter idiot." She made choking sounds, hiccoughing through her sobs and tears, "You wouldn't say that if you knew who it was," she whispered into his lips, so close to her own, "You wouldn't dare."

He looked to her lips, and then to her eyes once more. They were glassy, shedding tears continuously and darker than he'd ever seen them. He felt his heart twist.

He brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; something regular and natural to calm her down and regulate her strangled breathing.

"I  _would_  dare, Hermione."

She shook her head again, tears streaming and leaving trails down her face. Her cheeks were wet and flushed, her shoulders shaking with the effort to contain her emotion.

"No, no…" she muttered. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to forget the conversation and wake up again, without Cedric and with no memory of his words.

"Look at me," he whispered. She remained as she was. "Look at me, Hermione." He demanded huskily, but still sharp.

Her wide eyes opened and stared into his own. Cedric swallowed his grief and his hurt and his worry and said what needed to be said.

"You can't change fate, Hermione." He said, and tightened his grip on her cheeks when she went to close her eyes again, face scrunched, "You just can't."

Hermione let it all out at that moment, tears pouring and pouring out of her eyes, unable to speak through the sobs wracking through her body, shaking her shoulders and causing her to have trouble breathing through her hiccups. She grabbed the front of Cedric's robes and held on for dear life. There was still no way she'd let her dreams come to life.

She'd die herself before she let that happen.

 

\---

 

The following week was hell, and Hermione was just sick and tired of the glares, the whispers, the accusations and the isolation.

Harry and Ron were the only ones coming near her at this stage after she'd been released from the Hospital Wing. She hadn't seen Cedric anywhere after the Hospital Wing and she needed him. She needed his comfort and his shoulder to cry on. She needed his arms around her and felt strangely disjointed from the world when he wasn't around.

Everything was a blur of angry faces, shouts and yells, orders, essays,  _spells and potions, insults and fire. Fire. Fire. FIRE._

Hermione woke violently, sweating profusely and troubled by the way her pyjamas were sticking to her skin, hair so knotty that she didn't even want to contemplate taming it. She heaved her covers over her form, shaking in the cold, still damp and refusing to leave the confines of her bed. If she left and threw up, as usual, she couldn't pretend it wasn't real.

_It wasn't real, it wasn't real. There was no way it was real._

She emerged from her drawn curtains that morning with tired eyes and dark circles, clothes wrinkled and the air stale. She rubbed at her eyes, red-rimmed and entered the bathroom, taking her morning shower to wash away her nightmares, and used spell after spell to disguise her second life.

She truly felt Dark.

When Hermione approached the Gryffindor table that morning she was so used to the glares and the looks and the stares and the rudeness and the isolation and the exclusion that when her peers moved away on instinct, she didn't think twice about it.

_Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

Harry was there already, and she sat across from him, staring at her plate and not touching anything. She remembered the nurse's words but could not put forth the effort to follow through with them. The orders – always orders with Hermione.

_You must eat, Miss Granger. This is crucial. Or your magic will not be able to feed off of anything, and therefore return to its previous state – intertwined with your soul. Eat, or you will only get worse._

She ignored the voice in the back of her mind.

Coming to an agreement with herself, she poured orange juice into her goblet, taking a sip and nearly gagging, feeling like she was drinking mud, nothing but mud; filthy mud, dirty mud. Mud. Blood.

"We've got Transfiguration and then Defense Against The Dark Arts." Harry reminded her, as he had taken to doing. After the first day of her release, when she'd gotten lost on her way to the Gryffindor common room, Harry had known something was wrong. He hadn't asked about it, simply accepted it and tried to help.

His hand rested on her arm, a gentle pressure but leading her toward McGonagall's classroom. She didn't know where it was. Didn't care to know where it was.

They arrived late, her pace too slow, her timing too  _off_  even for real life.

McGonagall gave some seething comment and they seated themselves at the back. Hermione didn't take notes.

She thanked Harry with a blank stare when he gave her his later that night.

He was leading her again, somewhere. When she saw the electric blue eye glaring through her, Hermione knew she was now in her Defense Against The Dark Arts class.

Something about hexes, something about defenses, something about getting to know your enemy and something about unnecessary death.

She tuned out then.

"Granger, pay attention!"

The Professor shouted a spell at her then. She responded with a simple  _Protego_. Nothing more, nothing less.

She supposed people were surprised.

That's why they were staring.

Confused, she supposed.

She remained vacuous. Numb.

Everyone was leaving, and Harry's hand was on her arm again, trying to lead, trying to help her.

"Granger!" a gruff voice demanded. She turned her head, blank stare still there, to face her Professor.

"A word, if you will, in my office."

She saw Harry about to protest, and mentally shook herself out of it for a moment.

"It's ok, Harry." She smiled at him, trying to look convincing, "I'll meet you in the common room."

He looked at her fully for a moment before shaking his head.

"I'll wait outside. I don't trust you'll be able to make it to dinner at this rate."

She nodded absentmindedly, already weaving through the tables in the classroom to the door of Moody's office. He was seated at his desk.

Hermione shut the door behind her.

He said something, politely inquiring. She replied.

She wasn't really taking note of anything. His office was bland, no character.

Then he said a spell, and she snapped back to reality.

" _Silencio_."

He'd charmed the room. Harry wouldn't know.

Everything came back to her.

"Now you listen here, Granger," he snarled, "I've had just about enough of your attitude. You will listen in my class or I will  _make_  you listen. Do you understand me?"

She nodded weakly.

"That doesn't cut it,  _Mudblood_."

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the quill lying on his desk.

_Fire. Fire. Light on fire._

"You will stop whatever it is you're doing."

_Do it. Fire._

"You've done enough damage to my plans, I can't have you destroying them further."

_Fire. Command you so. Fire. Now._

"Don't make me eliminate you, Granger. Such a clever mind shouldn't go to waste."

_Fire…_

"Don't do it, Granger. Don't. You don't want to cross me. Mudblood."

_Fire, fire…_

"Filthy blood. Mud. Mudblood. Disgusting. Ashamed. Disgrace. MUDBLOOD."

_Do it. DO IT NOW! FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!_

The quill burst into flames.


	14. The Greater Good

Gryffindors weren't helpful. At all. Or loyal, really. I guess that was the Hufflepuffs, wasn't it? They were the loyal ones. Helpful, too, probably. Well, not  _probably_. She knew they were helpful. Hell, she'd only been consorting with one for the past year.

The word 'consorting' had so many implications.

Nevertheless, she'd never been less enthused to be a Gryffindor. Oh, how brave they were, how reckless, but how daring. How judgmental.

It was currently the evening of the twenty-ninth of March, nearing the start of the, what was to be predicted, uneventful Easter holidays. Hermione was on top of all her school work, as always. She knew she'd never find the time when term began again to research ways in which to prevent a charge's death. She was certain that it was plausible. Who could let their charge die? It was just inhumane, and completely illogical. Any normally respecting person would be outraged, and yet all she had found were cases in which a Death Seer had done nothing, or tried to help and died themselves.

Something that was rather advantageous to Hermione's reading was the fact that no one wanted to come near her. She was the freak. She was the anomaly.

Hermione Granger had performed wandless magic intentionally. And it had been Dark.

The rumor mill, thankfully, knew nothing of that. But it did, however, know of her magical integration and her supposed similarities to Lord Voldemort. She'd heard the whisperings as she'd walked down the hallways between classes. She was pretty much used to the overall exclusive behaviour of her peers, which had led her to her realisation.

Gryffindors weren't helpful. At all.

And they certainly weren't loyal.

But definitely judgmental.

Harry had been nothing but helpful, so she supposed  _he_  was the anomaly. She felt guilty for not explaining things to him. He was in the dark. All the time. With her, at least. He didn't know anything about her Death Seer nature, her relationship with Cedric, or the reasons for her current, rather emaciated condition. Hermione hoped he wasn't blaming himself, as was a tendency with her friend. After all, this was all her doing. He was in no way at fault, and she felt rather amused at the idea that he could manipulate things to make it seem like he was.

Ron, on the other hand, seemed like he didn't know what to think. He was continuously stuck between being her normal rather loud-mouthed friend, and joining his classmates for some good old whisperings and exclusion. One moment he would say something that would almost make her crack a smile, and think things were back to normal. They were the Golden Trio, and they could do anything. Then Seamus or Dean or some other Gryffindor hooligan would interrupt the three of them and ask Ron a question, glancing over at her in a supposedly subtle way. Confused Ron would come forth and he'd give her a wide berth for a couple of hours.

Hermione sighed to herself, glancing down at  _Prophecy Magic Gone Wrong_  in front of her, blowing hair out of her face in frustration. Her eyes were aching, and she blinked rapidly to clear her focus. It was no use. Vision bleary, she slammed the book shut and leaned her head on her hands. It felt like a dead end. Why was she even bothering? It had only succeeded in the validation of her being a Death Seer and nothing else. No help, not even a name to start her on her way to figuring out the puzzle.

Dumbledore had been no help, as all Gryffindors seemed to be at the moment. She didn't dare go back to him after what he did. She didn't want to nearly  _die_  again. No, she'd have to avoid the old Headmaster.

But was he her only option? She couldn't go to anyone else. She'd have to do a whole lot of explaining with anyone else. To be honest, she really couldn't be bothered. But it was more than that. No one else would  _get it_. Sure, they'd listen and follow her words, but they wouldn't understand her inner most feelings. They wouldn't understand what she was going through, and by default, what Cedric was going through.

It seemed Dumbledore did. He at least had some sort of answer. Possibly more.

This was life or death. Despite needing to save Cedric, Hermione knew her time was running out. Regardless of what happened, she had the distinct feeling she would be irrevocably changed. Maybe it would be for the better, and maybe it would be for the worse. Eventually, she'd have to face Dumbledore.

What was the point in procrastinating it?

She felt around her bed for her wand. Picking it up from the floor, Hermione shoved it into her jacket pocket. After slipping her trainers onto her feet, she walked over to the door. Pausing, she looked back at her four-poster once more before walking over to her bedside table. Pulling open the top drawer quietly so as not to disturb her fellow peers, Hermione squinted into the dark, blinking rapidly, and suddenly thrust her hand inside the drawer. Feeling her way around, she found what she was looking for, pressed up against the back panel, the golden lining catching the moonlight as she withdrew it from the drawer.

Wrapping her fingers around the binding, she held it tightly by her side, shivering, and turned on her heel out the door to the fourth year girls' dormitories. As she descended the stairs to the common room, she thanked the higher beings for her luck as she found it empty and cold. It was a rather strange sight, the Gryffindor common room at night. Usually so warm and comfortable, somewhere she would almost say was reminiscent of her bedroom at home, the common room was a place everyone enjoyed. In fact, Gryffindors spent most of their time there. Doing homework, talking with friends, relaxing, partying – it was pretty much the epitome of all that was Gryffindor. To see it now; so dark, quiet, cold, and almost cavernous – it was unnatural. Something Hermione saw little of at Hogwarts; something she supposed she better get used to.

Padding her way as softly as she could, but as quickly as she could to the portrait hole, Hermione was swiftly making her way down the corridor, passing the decrepit statue of Lachlan the Lanky. The dark halls of Hogwarts were slightly disturbing at night, and Hermione felt perturbed. She shuffled along at a fast pace, looking around anxiously. Holding the book to her left thigh more tightly, she extracted her wand from her jacket. Seeing only the first few feet in front of her with only the soft light of the flame torches, Hermione felt the need to cast a _Lumos_  so she could see clearly. However, there was no doubt that this would raise some sort of alarm – whether it be by Peeves or Mrs Norris.

She'd never done this before. Hermione was always the one abiding by the rules, albeit she broke them when the  _greater good_  was involved. But now... now was a time in which the greater good didn't matter. For if it did, Cedric would die and she would surely go insane.

No. This time, Hermione was going to be selfish.

So damn all those rules and damn all those obligations she owed to her teachers, her school, and her friends. She could no longer focus on them. She'd been doing so her whole schooling so far. Even before Hogwarts, Hermione was the reliable, responsible, and trustworthy one.

Maybe that was why she'd been isolated for the majority of her life. She was such a... kill-joy. Dobbing in on people, getting top marks all the time – no wonder only a small number of people liked her. She was surprised she had any friends.

What an opportune moment to throw that all behind her – stalking the corridors of her school, of magic, in the middle of the night to speak to the Headmaster about how he'd attacked her for the _greater good_.

She could just imagine what he'd say now.

Something about how she was interfering. Fate had to take its natural course – she had no right to disrupt it. Who was she, Hermione Granger, to do anything but sit by and watch? I mean, why the sudden interest, anyway? She'd been perfectly content to sit by and let other things fly away in the past.

No.

Just...  _no_.

Turning the corner, Hermione saw the statue of the Gargoyle ahead and lengthened her stride.

"Cockroach Clusters." she announced upon her arrival in front of the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Climbing the steep staircase two steps at a time, Hermione reached the door to the office in mere minutes. Without bothering to knock, she entered. Dumbledore would be up. And if he wasn't, well... she would wake him.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore announced, looking up from the papers he was examining before him. His tone was surprised, "To what do I owe this slightly banned pleasure at..." he looked at the ticking clock on his desk, "One o'clock in the morning?"

She slammed the book down on the table, scattering his paperwork and covering his obscure drawings on what looked to be Muggle physics. However, she thought she glimpsed an arithmancy equation beside it but felt too confused to finish the thought.

"I want answers."

Her tone stated that she was all business. No stalling, no polite chit chat – Hermione was here for one thing and one thing only.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and Hermione felt like ripping the white beard straight from his chin.

"Miss Granger, you can not expect me to answer all your predictably complex questions... on a whim." His eyes flickered over to the clock.

"I believe I can." Hermione said quietly. Of course she could! After his, what she liked to call it, mind rape, she had every right to demand anything from him at any time. Screw taking it slow, screw doing things for others – this was for  _her_. Greater good be damned, she was not letting him get away with revealing  _nothing_ , like he seemed to have the knack to do.

The Professor regarded her sceptically for a moment. He gestured for her to take a seat, and gave a small smile at her clear disobedience when she didn't. Leaning back in his chair, the Headmaster looked every year of his age as he sighed. Year after year he'd had students and colleagues alike come to him for help and advice. Year after year he'd sought to free the wizarding world from the horrors of Voldemort's growing power. Year after year he'd been afraid something like this would happen.

"I do not think you understand the complexity of your situation, Miss Granger." He dared not use her first name. The girl was a ticking time bomb. He'd seen her both at her best and at her worst in a time span of exactly seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. Unfortunately for him, he was quite the trigger for the witch, and so consequently had to act accordingly to make sure she didn't explode on him. Dumbledore was accustomed to being careful.

The fourth year stared at him incredulously for a moment. Hermione certainly hadn't expected him to give in so easily.

 _Ahh, but you see_ \- her Cedric-side, returned from a long absence, butted in –  _Dumbledore is Dumbledore. And inevitably, what you see is_ not _what you get._

Thunder rumbled outside and Hermione jumped. She had not known it was raining, and realised she'd missed the slow trickle of rain down the windows of Hogwarts, and the slight rattling of the window pane in her shock.

"Then please, by all means,  _explain_ , Professor."

A sigh sounded throughout the room and Professor Dumbledore quietly grasped the black book Hermione had slammed onto his desk. He flicked through it for a minute, until he set it down and clasped his hands together in what looked to be a contemplative manner.

"Miss Granger-" Another sigh, "There are little to no words I can use to explain this... predicament." He removed his glasses from his tired, weathered face, and looked at her imploringly, "I have experienced this once before. Regardless, this may as well be an entirely new experience for me."

Hermione dropped all facades and sat down in the chair heavily. "Sir?"

"It was years ago. Before you were born and before Voldemort's rise to power," he looked away from her and at the portraits lining the walls of the extravagant office, "I was not approached by a student, like you approached me, and I did not see what was so obviously before me until it was too late."

Hermione blinked. She had a feeling he was talking of Moaning Myrtle, but she could not understand the context. He was speaking as if what had happened was an enormous mistake, and yet he had let that happen? Wasn't the Headmaster all for Fate and its inevitability? So why was he so burdened by the result? She had not expected this.

"I am sure you know of whom I am talking. This book," he gestured to her life-saver, "has told you most of what there is to know about  _Death Seers_ ," his gaze pierced into her very being, "but it only mentions what involves you so minimally, that I knew you would seek answers soon enough. Unfortunately for you, my dear, you came too early.

"Moaning Myrtle haunts the second floor girls' lavatories for one reason."

"Because of Olive Hornby, sir?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes at the sad ghost. She could never have such a non-existence.

"Contrary to popular belief, no. Although Myrtle will tell you otherwise," his eyes twinkled, and Hermione remembered why she disliked him so much at the moment, "In fact, it has everything to do with Tom Riddle."

The way he spoke the name was as if he's said her own, or maybe Harry's. It was completely casual, filled with no feelings of hate or disgust, and made her wonder just what he was about to say. Voldemort, also named Tom Riddle, had killed Myrtle. Indirectly through the basilisk, but definitely killed her - murdered the poor girl for his own gain.

"And I see you are already confused. This is where my story and yours differ, Miss Granger, for you see... Tom Riddle killed Myrtle, yes... but why?"

Dumbledore paused as if to let the question sink in, and slowly pushed his chair away from his desk. Standing steadily, he walked slowly over to the large bookcase behind him, and retrieved a book that looked completely normal. Its contents, however, Hermione knew to be crucial to her understanding.

"This book gave me the insight I needed, and still need, into the mind of Voldemort. I could never fully understand the boy, hence why I had the tendency to underestimate him and openly display my suspicions of him." The Headmaster sat down once more in his armchair, perching his chin in his left hand.

"Voldemort is a murderer, every magical being alive and dead knows this. It goes deeper than that, I'm afraid. Tom Riddle could not help but become Voldemort. He was born for that purpose and he will die having fulfilled it."

"But sir," Hermione had to get her point across, not just for her own confirmation, but for her own reassurance, "It's our choices that decide who we are, right? I mean, if we have the choice to betray our friends, or to stay loyal-" she thought of Pettigrew, "If we choose to stay loyal, surely that determines some part of our character – surely that defines part of who we are as people."

"Oh yes, I vehemently agree, Miss Granger. However, choices can be deceiving. The one that seems to be right and just, is not always..." he looked straight at her, as if he knew what she was thinking at that exact moment. She felt naked... bare. He knew what she was thinking, for he had seen it weeks ago, "Do you see?"

She did not answer, and she knew she did not have to.

"Tom Riddle was Myrtle's Death Seer." Hermione's eyes widened, and she breathed in gulps of air.

"What?" she asked breathlessly, her mind buzzing with so many thoughts she could not focus on any one in particular. Her pulse had started racing, and she felt the sweat on the back of her neck drip down.

"He chose to care. He chose to understand. Tom Riddle chose to look over his charge, but not in the way you are thinking." Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"As you would expect, Tom was a rather self-absorbed boy. I do not hold it against him. In fact, I expected it when I met him at the age of eleven. This self-absorption grew, however, to something I did not expect. By the time he was sixteen years old, his fascination with immortality was obvious, and the way in which he approached his Death Seer abilities was much the same way. Intrigued by the prospect of knowing the future, Tom did not research Death Seers for Myrtle, and nor did he study his charge in interest for her own welfare – Tom did it all for himself."

Hermione sat there, engrossed. And so now she knew. Another piece of the puzzle was revealed, but in doing so, she realised that almost another thousand pieces were missing. Would it ever end? She almost felt like giving up, but that would not be fair on Cedric or anybody else who was relying on her. Research had wasted enough time. She had to  _do_. But where to start?

"By the time I realised his intentions, it was too late. Tom had released the Basilisk and had effectively distracted me. Myrtle died and I could do nothing."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when nothing came out. She couldn't say anything. Stumped, she believed. But it was much more than that – amazed, bewildered, disgusted, angered... the list could really go on. She drew in a rattling breath.

"So what does this mean?" she asked tentatively, frowning at her hands, stretching them out before her. Her wand was in her lap.

"It means, Miss Granger, that you have no choice but to be selfless and selfish at the same time," he stated solemnly, "Mister Diggory must die, for intervening will surely have enormous implications. You must discontinue all connections with him. You must ignore your abilities, and you must do all this so you can save yourself. There is a reason Poppy saw magical integration in Tom Riddle, as I saw magical integration in you. You are going down the same path, whether you are ready to accept that or not."

She stood, wand clattering to the floor. She was sickened. "How- ... how can you just  _sit_  there and do nothing? How can you sit there and call him ' _Mister Diggory'_. Have some  _respect!_  Have some _compassion_! Have so- have some... have some-"

"Love?" Dumbledore said simply, staring at her like he had not spoken a word, "Why, Miss Granger, I believe you have enough of that for the both of us."

Her mouth gaped open, and she was sure she resembled something like a fish. She did not care. How dare he make such a bold assumption? How dare he change the subject from something so important? How dare he state something she could never admit herself!

"Remember, Miss Granger – sacrifice Cedric to save yourself. This not only affects you, but the greater good of the wizarding world."

 _The greater good? The greater good? The_ bloody _greater good?_ She thought as she descended the staircase and walked down the corridor away from the damned Headmaster.

Oh, how she wanted to scream.

If she never heard that saying again it would be too soon.

Why couldn't anything be simple? She was continuously thrust into these horrible situations in which she could tell nothing to everyone and then expected to sit by and let things go their way. The time-turner was a disaster, and so was this. Who did they think she was? Wonder Woman?

She almost laughed out into the hallway at the thought of Malfoy's expression upon hearing her thoughts. The boy was a menace, but if he heard her utter the words 'Wonder Woman', he was sure to be astounded. Smiling into the darkness, Hermione continued on her way down the hall back to the common room.

 

\---

 

So this  _greater good_  - what did it actually mean? I mean, really. All talk and no explanations with this notion. She'd heard it millions of times, it seemed, and yet, no one ever mentioned it in a way that she could decipher what it actually was.

As Hermione returned from the Easter holidays, her selfish break from the magical world she was further delving into, she had brought a new mentality with her.

The greater good was for idiots. Idiots like Dumbledore and Harry. Idiots that  _weren't her_.

She wasn't anything like Tom Riddle. She wasn't anything like Voldemort. And she certainly wasn't looking after Cedric to chase her own aspiration for immortality.

So why should she care about this greater good, huh? It wasn't for Dumbledore to decide how she should 'save herself'. He never really explained what she was saving herself from, anyway.

She was Hermione Granger. She didn't need the greater good, for it didn't exist.

Screw the greater good, and screw Tom Riddle – she was doing things her way.

Despite being a girl –  _woman_  – of knowledge, one that depended on it and yearned for it every day of her life, now was a time when it would do her no good. Knowledge would hinder her, simply delay her from actually doing something to help the man she was falling in love with. So how to  _do_? Hermione had never asked herself that question in her life, and she asked a lot of questions.

She was in her bed on the night before classes resumed, wide awake, listening to the sounds of her fellow Gryffindors. She was having trouble getting to sleep, and so thinking of plans to save Cedric. She seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

She needed a way to stop her dreams from happening. To do this, she needed to be  _on the scene_ , ready to dissuade all forms of evil and protect Cedric to the best of her ability.

She almost giggled to herself as she drowsily turned onto her side, staring into the darkness. Protect Cedric, an almost full-grown wizard? Her, a mere fourth year? She was so  _small_  compared to him. She sighed dreamily. He was just... so handsome.

How could one man be so alluring? She knew he had no idea how sexual he was, but Merlin! She thought she would implode with all these hormones stirring inside of her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione registered she was acting this way because of the dreamless sleep potion she had consumed roughly an hour ago, but chose not to follow this thought path.

What had he seen in  _Cho Chang_ , anyway? Hermione felt like spitting out the name in her jealousy. She suddenly felt her anger mute and finally disappear altogether. Serene, she continued her rather scattered thought process.

_I hope they have muffins at breakfast tomorrow. I haven't had one since first term. Does Cedric like muffins? I'll have to ask him. I wonder whether Harry will want my Potions essay. Well, I'm not giving it to him! What's Cedric's favourite subject? Favourite teacher? I bet it's Charms. Sounds like something he would like. Charms is alright. I prefer Transfiguration, myself. Could I transfigure my appearance? That has the potential to be interesting. I'd never transfigure Cedric. He's too wonderful. All that toned muscle, strong hands, messy hair... mmm..._

" _I'm sorry, Harry." she said sincerely, pointing her wand at her best friend and opening her mouth._

" _What are you doing?"_

" _I couldn't let it go. Merlin, I tried, but I couldn't!"_

_Her sobs were loud and she forced herself to stop breathing._

" _Granger!"_

" _Come now, my dear, embrace the magic."_

_She felt her head split in two._

" _Potter! Be careful!"_

" _I will, Professor."_

" _Where's Granger?"_

_She smiled._

" _I don't know, why?"_

_The green light blinded her. She did not want to believe it. She could not._

_The area was empty. Vacant._

_... What?_

_She hated short hair._

" _Fire!"_

" _Please, no!"_

_Can't you do anything by yourself? Pick yourself up, you piece of shi-_

_Moody always hated her. How did she miss it? So weak._

" _I was lucky,"_

" _Harry, what-"_

" _I love you. And Ron."_

" _You are_ not _going to die, do you hear me?"_

" _Granger, just what do you think you're doing?"_

Well if I'll be damned _._

" _You're so stupid! Do you realise what could have happened?"_

_He rested his bruised head on her shoulder. She felt like collapsing._

So you're a girl?

Yes _._

_Breathe. In, out. In, out._

" _This is not the time for explanations. RUN!"_

_Her chest seared._

" _KILL THE SPARE!"_

" _CEDRIC!"_

Hermione sat upright in bed, panting.

Things just got a whole lot worse.


	15. Life

Life flew by until Hermione felt like it had formed into one huge blur that was reminiscent of a particularly vague nightmare. It seemed that half of her time was spent in a daze, floating through classes and the like until something especially unspectacular happened. Then everything proceeded to be incredibly vivid – bright colours, ear-splitting noises and distinctive smells. She had wondered whether it was the subconscious effort of her mind to somehow imprint everything of little importance in her mind. The idea alone could not be good, for why would she need to remember the pungent aromas coming from the bathroom in the morning? Right after Parvati and Lavender used their much-too-girly perfumes?

Work came and went, and Hermione wondered how she did it all. Essays came back: all Outstandings. Potions were brewed: all Exceeding Expectations. Because, let's face it – Professor Snape would never give Hermione Granger an Outstanding unless he would be questioned on the matter at a later date.

Harry had been fretting about what to learn and what to master. His preparations for the third task were mediocre at best, and Hermione felt it was her duty as his know-it-all friend to give him pushes in the right direction. So it was with great joy that she dumped a pile of six large books in front of Harry towards the end of May. The expression he held would have been comical had his need for the tomes not been absolutely necessary.

"I was in the Library-" Ron looked to Harry and rolled his eyes, which she chose to ignore, "-and I came across some books I thought might help you." Harry looked at her quite blankly, and she huffed with impatience, "You know – prepare for the third task?"

His face finally showed recognition, albeit hesitant.

"Thanks, Hermione. I-err… I might take a look at them after this game." He gave her a boyish grin and went back to the game of exploding snap he was playing with Neville, who smiled genially at her.

Somehow, Hermione managed all of the obligations and commitments she held in her life over the next few days, and found herself in the Library, once more, but with little to do.

"There's that Charm's paper – but it's simple comprehension, so I can do that in bed." Hermione muttered to herself, flicking through her homework planner to see if there was any work in need of immediate attention. She paused and gave a great sigh. She'd procrastinated perfectly, something she normally refused to do. Fortunately for her, it had resulted in catching up on her homework schedule, meaning she was once again weeks ahead of her peers.

She'd have to talk to him. Yeah, she had, for what seemed to be the millionth time, avoided Cedric for a total of two weeks now. That dream… it had been something different. Hermione hadn't been ready for what she had seen, and so had felt shocked into submission.

Was Voldemort really going to be that ugly?

Merlin, she didn't care anymore. What mattered now were her options. Options that would either make or break the year, options that would either save or end Cedric's life. And her own, for that matter.

Option one: Hermione would magick herself into this weird graveyard and save the day. Ultimately, she could do nothing to stop the return of Voldemort she had seen, but she could at least save Cedric and Harry in the process.  _She_  might even survive.

Number two: Hermione would do nothing to interfere, resulting in the death of Cedric Diggory and the mental breakdown of herself. The greater good would be accomplished but her life would be a mess, and an innocent young man would be dead.

Option number three: Hermione would stop Harry and Cedric from entering the graveyard in the first place. She didn't even want to contemplate this option as it was undoubtedly the most difficult and unpredictable thing to do.

To put it bluntly, Hermione felt completely and utterly powerless to stop it. Maybe she should take Dumbledore's advice after all.

 _No,_  she thought.  _I can't think like that. Pessimism is_ not _pretty._

The choices, the choices. Life was not fair. Life was, in fact, out to get her. Life was totally  _not_  cool right now.

"What are you doing in here? Oh, wait – I don't think I need to ask."

Yep, life officially had a grudge against her.

Her eyes hardened as she turned around and stared into those horrible, bigoted, icy grey eyes.

"Malfoy." Hermione said through gritted teeth. The boy grinned.

He bloody  _grinned_.

_Merlin, why me? I would honestly like to know._

"Granger. You're looking awfully dreadful tonight. Did you do something to your hair?" he said casually, looking like what he was saying was not an insult. Her jaw clenched and she fought the impulse to strangle the ferret then and there. Malfoy sat down across from her, and she almost retched in repulsion. He was annoyance personified.

"What? What do you want?" Hermione virtually growled out her questions.

_Ferret… be gone!_

"Granger," he said, pretending to be affronted, "So demanding. I didn't know you liked it that way. No matter… I can accommodate." He smiled brightly, and she bit down on her tongue to stop the imminent retort from escaping.

"Just spit it out, you slimy git. I don't have time for your petty insults." She spat.

"Fine, mudblood. But this isn't from me." He rolled his eyes and sat up from his relaxed position. "Stop what you're doing. It's no use."

Her mouth popped open, and she was sure she looked like a very unattractive, very  _shocked_ , fish.

"That's all I got paid for. See you later, mudblood. Let's hope it's in a broom closet!"

Just as she went to stand up and physically attack Malfoy for his insinuation, the boy disappeared through the Library doors.

_That… that…_

But Hermione could think of no words as she realised the underlying threat in his words. Not from him? Then who?

If it was who she thought it was, then she was just about to explode from her anger.

_Dumbledore._

"Potter? A word?"

Cedric looked over at the fourth year, who gave a hesitant nod and followed him on a path toward the forest. He was walking slightly ahead of the boy, and looked over his shoulder to make sure that Harry was indeed trailing behind.

"What're we going this way for?" The question should have caught him off-guard, but Cedric merely replied in a bored manner.

"Don't want to be overheard." At that, Harry seemed to quiet, and the only sounds were the slight crackles of twigs and leaves beneath their feet, and the soft thud of their heavy footsteps.

It was a little while later when Cedric finally came to a stop, turning around to peer at Harry from underneath his bothersome bangs. What could he say? He'd spent the majority of the day plucking up the courage to approach the Boy-Who-Lived, and now that the time had come, he couldn't seem to speak. Clearing his throat, he suddenly wished he were a Gryffindor.

"I wanted to talk to you."

_Genius, Ced. Way to go. He probably thinks you want to be best buds. Eugh, get it together, man!_

Cedric cringed at the look on Harry's face. Somewhere between a raised eyebrow and a squint. Merlin, he knew he shouldn't have said anything. There was a long pause.

"About what?" Potter said abruptly, and Cedric understood his wariness.

"Look, I- well, you wanted to know about Granger… and, uh, me." Cedric felt like throwing up in embarrassment.

Harry looked bored out of his mind already, and Cedric wanted nothing more than to be in his dorm, safely away from the imploring glances of fourth year Gryffindors.

"The truth is… I don't really know."

Harry looked completely fed up.

"So you lured me all the way out here to tell me you  _don't really know?_  What the hell, Cedric?" Harry exclaimed, and Cedric couldn't blame him. He felt like a right moron coming out here to tell Hermione's best friend that he wasn't sure what their relationship was. Maybe he should have clarified that with the girl herself first. Wow, he was smart.

"Look, Potter, it's not that I don't want to tell you, but your friend happens to be the most conflicting and confusing person on the planet. She's only a little bit hard to read, thank you very much." Cedric said, his ire rising at Potter's clear thought process. It went a little like this:  _Cedric is an idiot. Cedric can't like Hermione. I don't like Cedric. Everyone hate on Cedric!_

"Have you ever thought of  _asking_  her?" Harry looked at him incredulously, and Cedric froze.

_Well, no…_

Suddenly, Harry pulled on Cedric's arm and the latter stumbled awkwardly by Harry's side.

"What is it?" Cedric snapped, looking behind him and seeing nothing. He felt the need to voice this. "I don't see anything."

Simultaneously, it seemed, both boys reached for their wands. A man Cedric had never seen before seemed to stagger from the ominous trees of the Forbidden Forest, and Cedric tightened the grip he had on his wand.

The man looked to be homeless, like a few of the people he'd seen around Muggle London last summer. Except, this man happened to look like he'd been through hell and back along the way to becoming homeless. He was bruised and bloody. His skin was pale – unusually so. The bags under his eyes showed the horrible exhaustion he was experiencing, and Cedric thought he looked like a mental patient given the random bursts of speech he was giving. Squinting in the darkness, Cedric's eyebrows gradually rose in disbelief.

"Is that… is that-"

"Barty Crouch? Yeah, it looks to be."

Cedric let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, relaxing his stance and lowering his wand while Crouch continued his nonsensical ramblings to a tree.

"Mr Crouch?" Harry said loudly. "Are you all right?" As he moved toward the haggard man, Cedric took only a few steps closer.

"-number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen… do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will… " Crouch's eyes bulged out of his head, and he started to shake. From ten feet away, Cedric could hear the ragged breathing deepen, and knew something bad was about to happen.

Crouch's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed, twitching. Harry rushed forward, shaking Mr Crouch roughly, trying to get him to speak. Cedric moved closer still.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Cedric said, frowning.

"I don't know. Maybe you should get someone…" Harry trailed off, eying Crouch warily.

"Dumbledore!" the old man rasped spontaneously, grasping the front of Harry's robes with vigor, knuckles white. "See… Dumbledore…"

"Alright, Mr Crouch, if you-"

"Stupid… must… see… Dumbledore… tell…"

The spittle coming from his mouth almost wanted to make Cedric gag.

"Get up!" Harry said loudly and clearly. "I'll take you to Dumbledore."

"Potter, I don't think-" But Cedric's warning was interrupted by Crouch.

"Who… you?" he whispered brokenly, looking around wildly, not being able to focus on one thing.

"I'm a student. You're at Hogwarts. I'll take you to Dumbledore."

Crouch's mouth sagged, and Cedric took a couple of more steps closer, so he was now right behind the fourth year. Just who was this man? Cedric knew Mr Crouch – had met him before – but had never seen the man so unkempt and dirty like he was now. It was just simply not like Barty Crouch to do such a thing. If anything, he was always impeccably dressed and well-spoken. Not speaking the babble he was now. Cedric had never had a close relationship with the Headmaster like Harry seemed to, but he knew that when someone from the Ministry wanted Dumbledore, it was generally important. This was because the Ministry pretty much despised Dumbledore and all he stood for – to willingly seek him out and ask for assistance was a rare occurrence, and so Cedric knew that Crouch was in some sort of trouble, if not a situation of life or death.

"Cedric, you stay here. I know where Dumbledore's office is, I can be quick. Just make sure he doesn't go anywhere." Harry said, turning to Cedric. Crouch looked oblivious and seemed to be conversing with a tree again.

Cedric looked to the insane Mr Crouch and doubted he would be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Just hurry, Potter. This doesn't look good."

As Harry sprinted off into the dark distance, Cedric remained standing, looking down upon the once-respectable man with disgust.

"Where have you been?" he asked quite rudely. But the guy was insane – who was he to reprimand Cedric now?

"Excuse me, Weatherby. You shall not speak to me-" Cedric tuned him out, looking around at what seemed to be a suddenly darker edge of the Forbidden Forest. Merlin, he hated this place. At least it wasn't a full moon, he reassured himself. Werewolves were something Cedric didn't think he could face, even on a good day.

He gave a sigh. Why? Did he do something wrong in a past life? Things just had to be complicated, didn't they? Nothing was clean cut. He supposed that was life, though. He wondered what it would be like to be the second youngest Weasley, however. Existing would be so simple – eat, sleep, moan and groan, go into jealous rages, and ask for homework help. It sounded so easy.

But instead, Cedric was stuck here with this pathetic excuse of a once-was man, grumbling about how he commanded respect from all his junior workers.

The Hufflepuff rolled his eyes and glanced around.

_Come on, Potter. Get a move on._

He thought he saw a light in the distance, but shrugged it off.

"Stupefy!"

Cedric ducked just in time, and silently thanked his father for introducing him to the wonderful game of Quidditch all those years ago.

He turned, glimpsing the tattered robes of Crouch before he was gone from sight.

"Crap. Oh, crap!" Cedric said to no one in particular. He felt torn – to follow, or not to follow?

Potter would have his head…

Follow it was.

Cedric burst through the first layer of foliage in the Forest, trying to ignore the sharp twigs and gooey substances coating the outside of his once-immaculate robes. Looking around quickly, he heard rustling to his left and continued on that way, weaving in and out of trees, jumping over bushes, and avoiding what he hoped were large rocks but on second thought seemed to be moving-

He felt water seep into his shoes from the damp earth and cursed Scotland for its weather, regardless of the impending summer.

"Crouch!" he yelled, and heard his own voice reverberate off of the trees. The silence that followed was eerie.

He was panting now, and he felt the thin layer of muck on his face. He twisted around, looking everywhere and found no sign of the staggering man.

"No… no, come on!" he groaned to himself, tearing off through an especially dense area of shrubs, hoping to run into the madman.

Cedric's face was cold, and then he felt a throbbing in his nose. His eyes stung, and he tried not to think of the warm and thick liquid running down his face as he stood up after his fall. He may have glimpsed red, he did not know, for he pushed the thought from his mind. He ignored the caked dirt on his face and the muddy state of his robes, taking out his wand and casting a  _Lumos_ , cursing his stupidity for not having the sense to do so earlier.

"CROUCH!" His yell was so thunderous that his throat felt rubbed raw. He stopped in a small clearing, and gave up. The man was gone.

He waited a few minutes, catching his breath and wiping all sorts of disgusting substances from his battered face.

A dog barked in the distance.

"Cedric!" he heard the voice of Harry shout.

"Over here!" he shouted back, and within minutes was met with the hopeful face of Harry Potter.

Cedric closed his eyes wearily, and Harry's face fell.

"He's gone."

 

\---

 

"Hermione! It's… it's a…"

"Alright, slow down. Catch your breath… now tell me."

"It's a maze!"

Harry looked almost crazed, but with what, Hermione could only guess. A maze? Well. Well, that was…

A total anti-climax.

"A maze?" she asked, just to be sure.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, eyes wild.

"Did they say what it would contain? What you had to find?"

"Never mind that," Harry breathed out, "I have to tell you something!"

And so Harry proceeded to tell her about Barty Crouch's appearance. Something didn't sit right with Hermione. She felt as if something was missing. What did she not see? She was Hermione Granger – she saw everything. There was no way she could miss this. But it was nagging her. As she thought, tuning out the mutterings of Harry and Ron beside her, Hermione felt like she was being blocked.

_Blocked? What?_

She focused intently on the answer before her, the one that was just out of her reach. As she pushed her mind to concentrate, centre in on what she was supposed to know, her head began to feel pain. Slowly, at first… like the pain itself was tentative to start. But as soon as she recognised the feeling, it burst through her thoughts, shattering them to pieces in the process. Hermione clenched her eyes shut, hands flying up to her temples to try and rub the piercing pain away.

What could this be? This was something Hermione had never come across before. She was sure she'd read about similar cases before, but couldn't recall what book they had come from. Something about the mind… something that was certainly not muggle… something that was advanced-

Her mind was assaulted with pain once more.

She forgot the thoughts altogether. Hermione couldn't afford the pain right now. She had more important things to worry about than herself at the moment. Investigating something so small would only cost her time; time which she could not waste.

"-sor Moody might know something. What do you say? Maybe tomorrow morning… Hermione? Are you with us?"

The sound of Harry's voice and Ron's enthusiastic agreement shook Hermione from her musing.

"I think that's a fantastic idea, Harry. But have you asked Cedric what happened? He'd probably be able to narrow things down for you." Hermione suggested halfheartedly. Although rationally, what she had said was true, she didn't want to approach Cedric on the subject. Awkwardness crept up on her. Confrontations weren't really her thing, especially in regards to the Hufflepuff. He was just too in-the-know, too close, too  _personal_  for her to be able to keep her calm mental state while discussing the impending doom that was sure to await him and Harry in the maze. She cursed her mediocre lying abilities.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. The former shifted his position on the common room couches before clearing his throat to speak.

"The thing is… well, he approached me… asked to speak with me tonight." Harry looked to Ron, who seemed uncharacteristically calm while speaking about the sixth year. What a change of heart.

Hermione blinked.

"Okay…" she said slowly, trying to wrap her head around Harry's point.

"Well, he asked about you."

For a moment, Hermione froze. And then she could physically feel her face blanch. Even her body couldn't lie. So much for subtlety.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked, her voice breathy. She inwardly cringed, but choose to instead bite her lip in nervousness. What was it about that boy that always managed to rattle her? She felt so powerless.

"Does it matter?" Ron spat, and Hermione almost felt relieved at the return of normalcy. She could always count on Ron – predictable, jealous, best friend Ron. He was unchanging and certain, something that was severely lacking in her life at the moment.

She soon regained her normal indignant reaction at his tone and glared for all she was worth at the pale redhead.

"Look, I can't talk to Cedric right now because, to be honest, I don't want to know what his intentions are with you. Things are better left unsaid, if you know what I mean." Harry's eyes pleaded with her to understand, and she felt sympathy for him. No doubt, the least of his worries was her relationship with Cedric. However, she felt it was a poor excuse for not talking to the boy. Cedric was understanding – he would realise that Harry's queries were infinitely more important than inquiring about her.

…  _Were they?_

Regardless, she couldn't let such a moment pass by. Mr Crouch had gone insane, rocked up on Hogwarts grounds, proclaiming that he needed to see Dumbledore and that  _he_  was somehow involved with it all. Not to mention expecting all sorts of tasks of Percy Weasley. Answers were needed, and Cedric looked to be the best candidate for them at the present time. So it was settled, then.

"I get it, Harry, but think of the big picture here. I  _know_  Cedric," Ron's fists clenched, "and he's a lot more understanding than you give him credit for. Just go right up to him and say what you need to know. He'd be more than happy to give you answers, I'm sure." Hermione reasoned, saw the defeated look on Harry's face and knew she won this particular battle.

If only she could win the battle with her Cedric-side, and then everything would just be peachy.

_Ah, such is life._

As Hermione contemplated the pros and cons of the particular hand  _she_  had been dealt with this year on her way to the Library, she decided she deserved a much needed break from her hectic book borrowing, and changed direction to the kitchens.

Maybe some apple crumble would ease her strained mind.

The pear giggled as she entered, and Hermione heaved a great sigh at the comforting sight. Being a complete replica of the Great Hall, but without the school populace, was something Hermione secretly loved about the kitchens. It was familiar but without the questioning, rumour-spreading crowd. Bliss, in its purest form.

She sat at the Gryffindor table, something that was a habit, as an unknown elf catered to her needs. She begrudgingly accepted its help but felt her efforts were futile. As she's realised this year, who was she to dictate how people lived? Some things just  _were_. Unfortunately, Hermione couldn't change them.

Berating herself for her cynicism, Hermione dug into the apple crumble that she loved dearly. The elves added something extra that always managed to make her feel that little bit better. Maybe it was the similarity to her mother's own crumble, but Hermione knew it ran deeper than that. Their food always incorporated that additional something that left her wanting more, and more, and more, until she could no longer open her mouth. It filled her with a feeling so complete and so satisfied that she often wondered in those later hours how she could think so negatively most of the time. Hermione was sure it was a feeling akin to drunkenness but having never experience that herself, could only guess. Staring at the elves humming merrily, all with skips in their steps, as they scrubbed pots and pans and stirred huge amounts of food, Hermione adored their passion. Their love for what they did as astounding, and Hermione wished she could share in something so significant.

Love.

Maybe that was the special ingredient. But it felt way too cheesy to Hermione. Too Dumbledore, even. Rational; that was Hermione in a nutshell. Love – yes, it existed, and yes, she was sure she would feel it one day, but it was so rare; merely a feeling. Its importance was minute.

But what had she been telling herself lately? She didn't want to admit it, but subconsciously she had been encouraging herself that her  _love_  would save Cedric. Loving him alone would be enough to rescue him from the darkness that was out to get him. They were passing thoughts. Nothing more than a girl swept up in her emotions, dead tired and sobbing into her pillow in the early hours of the morning. They were signs of weakness.

Hermione hated weakness.

She finished her apple crumble with a contented sigh. It had hit the spot, definitely.

Was she missing love? Eugh, the thought itself made Hermione want to roll her eyes.

Maybe a little. She was an only child, but her parents were always so busy; with work, with everything. As a witch, they felt rather detached from her, she supposed. She felt the same, really. There was only so much she could tell them about her world. If she even mentioned Cedric, they'd be on her case in a heartbeat.

Cedric filled this void. Well, she imagined he did. He felt like everything she needed – and he certainly looked like everything she needed. The question was whether she  _did_  need him. Or was she fine right now? Alone.

Merlin, she was fifteen. Sure, more mature. But the base of the problem lay in her uncontrollable hormones, which seemed to want to dramatise everything and anything to make life like some tragic love story.

She heard the door to the kitchens open and looked up in surprise. No average person would be visiting the kitchens this late at night.

"Granger," he nodded.

Of course no average person would – but he wasn't average, was he?

He sat at the Hufflepuff table, and Hermione flushed with embarrassment at the large distance between the two of them. Why would he sit over there? Why not one table closer, or two? Or even across from her?

_Way to make it awkward._

"I-…" Well, she didn't really know what to say. "I heard you talked to Harry."

Her voice was more like a croak than anything else, but he seemed to understand her just fine. He seemed so oblivious to the influence he had on her. Sometimes Hermione wondered whether he saw anything at all.

"Yeah?" he asked distractedly, dumping what looked to be a Potions textbook in front of him, opening up to the first chapter. It was one Hermione had read before for a bit of light reading. Certainly interesting enough.

"Do you… well, know anything?" Hermione gulped as Cedric's eyes stopped roving over the tome. "About Crouch, I mean."

There was a moment of silence and Hermione felt the situation couldn't possibly get more uncomfortable.

Cedric sighed and closed his book, saying clearly across the hall the opposite of what she thought he would.

"Not really. It happened so fast. I was waiting for Harry, next thing I know Crouch tried to attack me and then ran off."

Hermione looked up from staring at her lap, leaning forward in her eagerness for the truth. Maybe she could squeeze it out of him.

"Did he attack you or someone else? Was he dragged into the forest? What exactly did you see-"

"Whoa, whoa, Granger. Ease yourself. I told you exactly what I told Dumbledore. I don't know. It was impossible to tell." Cedric peered at Hermione from under his bangs and saw her visibly deflate in disappointment. He felt he had nothing more to say to the girl. Really, it was… weird. The whole situation was weird.

And he just wanted to snog her already!

He went back to his book.

As he read about the differing properties of wolfsbane - something he thought Snape was ridiculous for teaching now - he saw the Gryffindor approach his table from his peripheral vision. Here it went again. He could never catch a break. Cedric was fed up of it all. Life, in general, was certainly out to get him for all it was putting him through now.

Simplicity was seriously hard to come by.

"What is it?" he said shortly.

A warm hand landed on his own, and Cedric stood up in stock, almost knocking over the bench he was previously sitting on. He had taken his hand back, still feeling the searing warmth of Hermione's, but refusing to admit defeat. His stubbornness just may be the death of him.

"You're hurt." Hermione said weakly. She frowned as she gazed upon the grazes lining his face, and the bruise on his cheekbone. She wondered why Madam Pomfrey hadn't healed his face completely.

Cedric looked away.

"It's nothing. Really." He enforced, shifting his feet to release some of the tension in his muscles. She could see his clenched jaw clearly from where she was standing. A bad habit. Something she had picked up from him.

Hermione didn't know what motivated her to do it, and later pleaded temporary insanity, but her left hand came up of its own accord to gently caress his cheek. She looked just as shocked as he, she was sure, but went along with it. He wasn't pulling away. Hermione's mood darkened at the realisation that  _this_  was progress.

Her step closer echoed throughout the kitchens, regardless of the sounds the elves were making. The elves themselves seemed almost oblivious to their presence, but Hermione knew better.

Cedric placed his hand over hers, and she breathed in deeply, almost shuddering with the effort. She lightly massaged his face, and was sure it wasn't normal to notice the steady rise and fall of his chest in such a situation. Hermione licked her lips subconsciously, and locked eyes with him for the first time since he entered. Her hand slipped to his shoulder.

"Please." He breathed, slowly leaning down to do the unthinkable.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let him.

 

\---

 

It was the next day, Friday, after a History Of Magic lesson daydreaming about a certain someone that Hermione, Harry and Ron were finally able to talk to Moody.

"So he  _did_  Disapparate?" said Ron.

"You can't Disapparate in the grounds, Ron!" Hermione said vehemently, sick of reminding the boy about such a vital piece of information. "There are other ways he could have disappeared, aren't there, Professor?"

Moody's magical eye quivered as it rested on Hermione, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The way he looked at her seemed menacing – like Moody was dangerous to her. The idea was inconceivable. Professor Moody was just that – a professor, a teacher at this school. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her, she was sure.

So why did her chest freeze up when he looked at her? And why did he always seem to be doing that – looking at her?

Hermione shrugged off the feeling. There was no time to worry about such a thing when more important matters were at hand.

"You're another one who might think about a career as an Auror," Moody told her, and the way he said it made it sound ironic. "Mind works the right way, Granger."

Hermione looked at him blankly, trying to ignore the niggling feeling at the back of her mind that she couldn't identify. She felt the start of a headache coming on.

"Well, he wasn't invisible. The map shows everything. He couldn't have been on the grounds." Harry reasoned, looking between Hermione and Moody. Ron was decidedly silent.

"Did he leave on his own accord, though? Or was he taken… again?" Hermione questioned. It hung in the air, waiting to be answered. Professor Moody looked contemplative, but Hermione felt uneasy at such a look.

"I wouldn't rule it out as a possibility. But he could be anywhere by now."

Hermione felt no closer to the answers she craved as the three of them left Moody's office at the end of break.

Bombarded with homework from Snape after double Potions, Hermione had barely registered it was the weekend by the time Monday came around. Helping Harry to prepare had taken up most of her spare time, as well. She could not sleep peacefully anymore, and knew her lack of dreams were something to worry about. That prospect seemed to make no sense, but she supposed that if the dreams weren't happening, then something had changed. Whether it was good or not, she did not know.

Monday morning passed in a blur, and when she got back from Arithmancy after lunch, all she could hear in the halls were the talks of Harry Potter and fainting in Divination.

Hermione wasn't exactly surprised.

Sighing, she made her way to the common room to seek out the boy who never seemed to catch a break. That night, the three of them stayed up late discussing what could possibly be meant by the memory Harry had witnessed.

"What does You-Know-Who have to be happy about?" Ron asked sullenly, "I mean, he's not that powerful at the moment, is he?"

"Dumbledore thinks he's getting stronger again." Harry said, staring into the fire. His face looked tortured, and Hermione could only imagine the kind of stress he was going through. She really wished Voldemort would just  _die_  already.

But Ron's questions got her thinking; what  _did_  Voldemort have to be happy about? Surely if something had gone their way, they would know. It would be in the  _Prophet_ , or they'd have received a warning from the headmaster at dinner, or-

 _What if it's not something that seems important? What if it has something to do with_ you _?_

Hermione didn't want to think about that, but her Cedric-side had a point. Her dreams had stopped. She was repeatedly getting headaches, and she had still found no way to save Cedric from his death. She had no idea what to do anymore. She didn't even know  _when_  Cedric was meant to die, anyway. For all she knew, it could be tomorrow.

She felt her face go white, and banished the thought. She would know. She would  _know_.

As Hermione tried to convince herself, she bade goodnight to both Harry and Ron and ascended the stairs to the fourth year girls' dormitories. As she opened the door to Lavender's snores, Hermione felt like the world was crashing down around her.

It's close, she thought, pulling the covers over her shivering pyjama-clad body. It wasn't cold.

It's very close.


	16. The Beginning

June.

It was the month of the third task, as Harry had told her. She couldn't help but bite her lip in anxiety.

Then there were exams she had to deal with.

_Why, Merlin, why?_

To top it all off, she had had no dreams this month, none at all. Hermione had no idea why, but it only served to make her more nervous and increasingly depressed about the upcoming task. She'd tried researching, she really had. But nothing was working. She couldn't think. At least, that's what it felt like. Her brain was like fluff, she was sure.

On the morning of the third task, her nerves were on fire, and she felt inexplicably paranoid. The breakfast she ate that morning was nonexistent, and she was convinced she would regret it later, but couldn't muster the energy to care.

That familiar face that she adored was surrounded by friends, and looked, by all means, happy. If only she could join him. Maybe he wasn't worried at all. She figured he would be if he had her dreams.

Harry's eyes pierced into her, and she simply looked back at him, waiting.

"Harry, what-"

"I love you. And Ron." He turned to her other best friend pointedly. The redhead gave a sad smile.

Hermione spoke before she knew what she was saying.

"You are  _not_  going to die, do you hear me?" Hermione felt the near crack in her voice and reduced herself to a murmur. "No one is."

Her throat closed up, and Hermione lost all sense of reason.

So what if she didn't know how to get there? The graveyard… Merlin if she knew where it was. Her mind was telling her it was useless, impossible – her heart was telling her that it would just… happen. She knew, but she didn't.

It was so confusing and Hermione just wanted to end it all right there.

The three of them were still quiet – it seemed even Ron didn't know what to say. She had always relied on him to break the tension in all situations; she thought him so oblivious to it that it must have been unintentional. Now, however, she saw that Ron strived to make every situation more comfortable, more joyous, and more relaxed – just like him. She felt the loss when he did not speak. Hermione couldn't quite dare herself to glimpse his face, for she knew it would only make her feel worse.

If only she had any idea.

Damn it.

It was Neville who gave her the strike of brilliance she was sure solved everything. It was Neville who chose to be brave, like a true Gryffindor. It was Neville who gave them all a little hope. It was Neville who spoke up.

"If only I could take your place, Harry. If only I could be you. I'm sorry." he said to the air. His eyes searched all three of them. Finding nothing, he turned back to nudging the untouched toast on his plate.

She shared the sentiment.

 _If only… if only I_ could _be you, Harry._

And then it clicked.

Her eyes widened, and she cursed herself for not thinking sooner. Hermione didn't bother to explain herself to her two friends, and simply jumped up from her spot, suddenly animated, and threw Neville a quick face-breaking grin.

She heard Ron's protests echo behind her, something about her History of Magic exam – but she could not care less. So unlike her, but as she raced down to the dungeons, exams were the last things on her mind. How could she think about them at a time like this? Hermione could almost hear her blood pumping in her veins, and she certainly heard her great intakes of breath. Her legs were numb, and she nearly tripped several times in her haste. She paid her blunders no heed, however, and continued on. If she was right, and she was sure she was, Professor Snape was currently occupied in the Great Hall with all the other teachers, including Filch, preparing for the third task.

So she wouldn't need to use the Invisibility cloak, much to her advantage. Hiking up to Gryffindor tower would waste the little time she had.

Hermione called on her inner Slytherin to guide her through the next four minutes. It was crucial she do this. It didn't matter about subtlety, but she felt it was imperative that her less reckless attributes were pushed aside for this particular endeavour.

 _Oh God, oh Merlin, oh dear,_  she thought to herself. Her hair whipped around her face, and she ignored the cool draft of the dungeons as she descended staircase after staircase. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but she knew that it was merely her over-energetic imagination that led her to believe she was being followed.

This plan was perfect. This plan was fool-proof. She was no fool. She could do this. Hermione was ready.

She burst into the Potions classroom, and heard the door banging behind her as she rushed to his personal storage cupboard.

Hermione knew it was warded, and knew he would know it was her. She did not care.

She exploded the door off its hinges, and rushed inside, ignoring the panic that settled in and the voice that scolded her.

_What have you done? Are you crazy? This is not you!_

And it was right – this wasn't her. She couldn't be herself to achieve what she needed to achieve. She smiled wryly.

Hermione's shaking hands rummaged through his personal stores of already prepared potions. From her previous escapades in second year, she had hoped he had had the potion she was looking for, already prepared. The row had been empty at the time, but now she hoped-

It was full. To the brim.

She had no idea what expression covered her face at the present time, but she was sure it was something that combined exaltation and a strange sense of fulfillment.

It was only seconds later as she pulled out the phial and read the label with utter disbelief that Hermione noticed she was crying. Her delight was so great that she could hear great sobs coming from the back of her throat. Her shoulders wracked with the intensity of her emotion, and Hermione was thankful for her strong grip on the phial.

Normally Hermione disliked Snape's scrunched calligraphy, but right now it only seemed beautiful.

Polyjuice.

It was time to move.

She snapped herself to attention and raced out of the dungeons, leaving behind a destroyed door and ransacked cupboard. That wasn't her problem right now.

Where would Harry be at the moment? He had been in the Great Hall, but Hermione knew he had to go and see the Weasleys, something Cedric had told her was a surprise for her friend. There was no way she could impede on that moment. She paused in her swift walking to determine how exactly she should continue.

Luck must have been on her side, for she finally realised that Harry had forgotten his wand that morning. So unlike him – someone was always out to destroy him, and so he had carried around the stick every day and every night since first year. Hermione hadn't seen it in his pocket this morning, something she remembered finding very odd. It must have been the rush, the panic, or the worry that suddenly made him forget that ingrained ritual he had every morning.

Therefore, Harry would need to visit his dormitory if he wanted to participate in the third task. It was perfect – she would just have to approach him in the common room.

What Hermione thought would be an approach turned into waiting for Harry to come through the portrait hole and for her to ambush him as soon as he did so.

Hermione hated Quidditch. And she remembered this when, after trying to jinx her best friend, he had somehow found the agility to duck. He turned around, and grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her back as she spun to face the wall. She wriggled endlessly, fighting to get away, but it was no use.

 _So much for an ambush,_  she thought grimly. Now she'd have to play dirty.

"Granger," Harry said cautiously, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

She was shocked at his use of her last name, but supposed it was appropriate given the situation. After all, she hadn't acted as a best friend should.

"I need to, Harry." She growled, still struggling to break free. His grip was loose, but she was unable to tear her hands away from Harry. Hermione inwardly cursed his strength.

"You need to render me incapable of participating in the third task?" Harry asked, and she could almost imagine the way his eyebrows would be raised. She felt her ire rise.

"God damn it, Harry, let me go  _right now_." She said, exasperated. Time was of the essence, and he didn't seem to realise that.

 _Well of course he doesn't,_  a voice chimed.  _He isn't a Death Seer, like you._

Hermione felt like rolling her eyes, but her face was currently squashed up against the cold stone wall. When had he pushed her into the thing? It didn't matter. She could outsmart her best friend, despite his agility and strength.

Thinking quick, Hermione flung her body back. Harry, surprised by the extra weight, stumbled. He let go of her hands briefly, but that was all she needed. She whipped her body around, pulling her wand out simultaneously.

"I'm sorry, Harry." she said sincerely, pointing her wand at her best friend and opening her mouth.

She saw his wide eyes and felt the sting of guilt before she did what needed to be done.

" _Stupefy_."

Harry seemed to crumple onto the ground. She supposed she shouldn't have stunned him at such a close distance, but felt it was too late now. She went to heave his body up to his dorm before realising she was, indeed, a witch. As she shook her head, she said a quick  _Mobilicorpus_ , carefully placing Harry's body on his bed. She'd have to do it now. And quickly.

Reaching into her robes, Hermione extracted the phial lovingly, placing it on Harry's bedside table. She quickly plucked some of his hairs from his head, frowning at its unwashed state, and picked up the phial, dropping them into the potion. She let them sink in, and the potion turned a brilliant gold. She smiled at the colour before swallowing her nerves and downing the potion in one. Hermione felt the change immediately, and almost gagged at the feeling. It was horrible. She felt a slight burn on her forehead, and her skin came up with goosebumps. She could no longer feel her hair on her neck, and shivered in anticipation for what was to come. Looking down at herself, she realised Harry's knobby knees were to be seen peeking out from under her skirt. She smirked to herself before quickly undressing, trying to ignore the fact she was seeing Harry's half naked body, and slipping into the Quidditch robes Harry on the bed had on. She covered him with his covers and drew the curtains around his four-poster after  _disillusioning_  him. No one had to know, right?

She snatched his wand from his bedside, and hurried down the stairs to the common room. Whoever thought girls were to be trusted at Hogwarts were very wrong.

Sighing heavily, she slipped through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady eyeing her sceptically. She supposed it was the disheveled appearance, but shrugged it off. She was Harry now. She felt the heavy weight of her actions in her pocket, the one that held Harry's wand. Although it wasn't completely necessary, Hermione didn't want to take any risks, and so had taken the wand anyway. She could easily use her own, but was afraid someone would notice. She wouldn't put it past Fate to load that one on her.

Hermione hurried down the corridors, but could see no stragglers and started to worry. She had forgotten her watch in her haste and was sorely regretting it. Jogging now, Hermione could not feel hair flowing behind her, or the kink in her neck from many days of carrying heavy book bags; instead, she felt a strange sense of elation, and guessed that maybe that was why Harry enjoyed flying so much. She dismissed the thought entirely, however, at the realisation that she couldn't take on her best friend's personality traits. She was merely Hermione Granger inside Harry Potter's body. Nothing more.

But she couldn't help the feeling that maybe she understood more about Harry now than she ever had…

Running now, she skidded to the doors to the grounds, pushing them open with all her might and only achieving the smallest of openings. She squeezed Harry's marginally skinnier body through the insanely small gap, and thanked the Dursley's, something she had never thought of doing, for determining Harry's diet at a young age. She felt almost disgusted with herself at that thought, and quickly dismissed it.

Her pants were loud and heavy, something she was unused to. Hers were normally quick and light – dainty, almost. Damn males. Maybe she wouldn't be so hard on them in the future to restrain from certain brutish noises.

As she approached the Quidditch pitch, Hermione's stomach dropped at the sound of a cheering crowd. She had forgotten that she had needed to compete in the actual task. It had seemed such a miniscule detail in comparison to saving Cedric. Stupid, is what she felt at the realisation. Merlin, she was selfish. If only she hadn't been so pigheaded, she may have realised that there was no way she could get through this.

 _No,_  she thought decisively.  _I can do this. I helped Harry practice. It'll be just the same… only it's at night. I'm by myself. It's cold. I'm scared. Voldemort is coming back. And I have to act like I'm Harry! Oh God! Oh Merlin!_

Hermione felt the prick of tears at her eyes, and blinked them away. She certainly hadn't lost her ability to be an emotional wreck after taking the Polyjuice potion.

She sprinted onto the Quidditch pitch, feeling no remorse for its complete change into the maze. There were dark clouds descending on the school, and Hermione only saw the first few stars emerging in the quickly blackening sky before they were obscured.

"Potter!" Bagman demanded. "Where have you been? We've been waiting for you!" He seemed relatively cheerful, something which Hermione wasn't in the slightest. His enthusiasm just made her even more resentful of his encouragement of the Tournament.

She breathed out her answer, covering up her surprise quickly at the sound of a deep, smooth voice, not the higher, lighter one she was accustomed to hearing come from her mouth.

"I got held up."

Her simple reply seemed to make Bagman pause, before he disregarded it altogether and led her over to the other champions by the arm. She was irritated that he thought she – no,  _Harry_  – needed to be guided, but discarded the thought before people could recognise her irate tone as that of Hermione Granger.

Her face felt like it was sagging, and Hermione felt the two hours sleep she got that night come back to haunt her. Everything seemed to be stacking up against her. Could she find no comfort in even the easiest things? Like sleep?

Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick came up to the four champions wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats or backs respectively.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," she said to them all. Hermione saw Cedric give her a side glance and then a wink, and she nearly melted. She controlled herself at the last minute, remembering she was Harry and she was a boy. It was entirely unfair to Harry if she were to give him a certain… reputation, per se.

"If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

Hermione felt herself nod numbly, and saw the others do the same in her peripheral vision.

She wondered if she were the only one who realised someone could  _die_  tonight. Fleur seemed agitated, but bored. Krum was just pacing, mumbling curses and jinxes over and over. Cedric was standing still, clenching and unclenching his jaw repeatedly. She felt inclined to do the same thing, but stopped herself.

 _You're Harry. Har-ry. You are_ not _Hermione Granger._

So instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and ran her hands through her hair, as she'd seen Harry do numerous times over the years.

She hated short hair.

It was just grimy, and spiky, and overall unpleasant.

She heard a good luck from Hagrid and nodded absentmindedly, feeling only a little guilt for ignoring the giant. She didn't mean to, but other matters were more pressing than  _manners_  at the moment.

Opening her eyes, Hermione blinked away the blurs and soon everything came into focus. She wondered how Harry coped with such poor vision everyday. Even now, his glasses were annoying her, just perched on her nose. How frustrating.

"Potter! Be careful!" she heard McGonagall exclaim. She felt a tiny bit of a relief that the Professor seemed to have faith in her. Well, faith in Harry, at least.

"I will, Professor."

She turned away, looking at the tall maze and wondering how on earth she would navigate her way through.

"Huge, huh?" A voice said beside her, and Hermione craned her neck to the right to see Cedric stop next to her.

"Indeed." She cursed herself before the word had even fully escaped her mouth. Harry would never say something like that. She coughed awkwardly, ignoring Cedric's incredulous look. "I- I mean, yeah. Yeah, it is."

She avoided the Hufflepuff's eyes, trying to remember why she was doing this. Convincing herself that this was the right thing to do.  _This_  was the greater good.

Cedric had said something. She blinked.

"I'm sorry – what?"

"Where's Granger?"

She smiled.

"I don't know, why?"

Cedric frowned, but didn't say anything. Her heart deflated a little.

 _Remember, you're Harry. He's not going to come running into your arms and confide in you._  She almost snorted at the thought.

She heard the loud  _Sonorus_  of Bagman and his following speech, and then she was suddenly thrust into the starting position.

"So… on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!" With a start, Hermione realised he was talking about her. "Three… two… one-"

A whistle sounded somewhere in the distance and Hermione stumbled forward into the maze.

It had begun.

Silence descended over her, and she turned around in surprise, expecting to see silent, solemn faces staring back at her. All she saw was a tall, dark hedge. It looked almost black in the now moonlight, and Hermione shivered with unease. She viewed the hedges as walls rather than shrubs. They were so thick, so hard, and looked far too much like something to keep people  _in_  rather than  _out_  that she had the vague sense that she was trapped. She felt like a prisoner in this maze, and as she turned back to the path ahead, Hermione knew she was facing her death.

Swallowing thickly, she urged one limb to move forward. And another. And another, and another until she realised she was sprinting. Approaching a fork, she took the right path, looking over her shoulder as if she were being followed. But she was not. Hermione was as alone as she could be, and felt her heart squeeze at the thought of being so alone for the rest of her life. She tore her eyes away from the dust floating up into the air behind her, and ran on.

Somehow, after what seemed like hours but after looking at her watch she saw to be only fifty-nine seconds, Hermione came across her first obstacle. She slowed, coming to a stop before it.

_What?_

There was a line of fire cutting across the pathway. Hermione took a sudden intake of breath at the soft light emanating from the blue flames. There was no way she could get across this. Not unless she had water to douse it, or was wearing extremely protective gear. The shirt she had on all of a sudden felt very thin.

She stepped back at a sudden burst of flame, and her palms became sweaty. The wand was held loosely in her hand, and it nearly dropped to the ground in her shock.

Gripping it tighter, Hermione thanked Ron for his thoughtful Christmas present, and yelled hoarsely.

" _Aguamenti!_ "

Water poured from her wand and Hermione gave a sigh of relief.

That was until the flames did not recede, did not vanish. In fact, Hermione swore they got angrier, more aggressive.

She bit her lip. What could she do? That was the most powerful spell she knew, taken from the sixth year Charms textbook she had read eight times. Hermione rubbed her forehead, ignoring the grime that had stuck to it, instead wiping it on her pants.

Hermione felt like giving up. There were no options left.

She sat Harry's body down in front of the flames, which were considerably tamer since she had cast the charm.

If she couldn't get rid of the flames, she would have to go through them. But how? She was no stuntwoman - or stuntman, in this case. Regardless, Hermione could not fathom how she would be able to walk through the fire without burning to death.

 _Burning to death…_  she mused. Her face lit up in realisation suddenly, before she sprung herself up from the ground and held her wand level with the base of the flames. Witches were targeted for centuries. But of course, magic had prevented them from ever actually dying. Back in third year, she'd found out.  _Trials And Tribulations Of Witches Throughout History_. A painful title for an informative book – something which Hermione had read to gain insight into the sufferings of witches before her. It was a charm used to freeze flames. Not literally, but their effects were dulled. Those caught in them would not feel the pain or suffer the injuries – instead, there was a slight warm sensation. Wizard folk in Salem had notoriously used this charm when they were to be burnt at the stake, and had instead faked their deaths.

" _Infirmus Ignis._ "

Hermione couldn't safely say if it had worked. She'd never tried the charm before, and didn't remember reading anything about special casting methods. It was an old spell, and she assumed it was still in effect.

 _Of course it is,_  she berated herself,  _spells don't just become_ extinct _, you idiot._

She breathed in deeply, and took a step forward, feeling-

Nothing.

Her face erupted into a full-blown smile, and she stepped again, now on the other side of the fire.

Shaking off the nasty feeling that she'd only just escaped that problem, Hermione continued on.

Roaming was severely overrated. She had been doing it for the last hour – and it  _was_  an hour this time, she'd checked – with no results. She turned left, then left again. Facing a long strip of pathway, Hermione sprinted harder, thanking Harry for the extra endurance and adrenalin now running through her veins. Hair blew across her forehead, and it was smooth and sweaty, not dry and wiry like her own.

Hands flew out at her from the hedges, gripping Harry's shirt. She screamed, and the thought that it was completely too deep came into her mind before she was being pulled, pulled, toward the hedge. Its branches were flicking out, scratching her face and trying to constrict her chest. She thought she heard a rip somewhere and hoped the…  _things_  would just take her clothes and be done with it. Naked, she could live with. Dead, she could not. Literally.

Her own hands flew around her, grabbling and hitting at everything and nothing. It was as if the hands were merely apparitions. But it couldn't be true – apparitions, ghosts, couldn't do this to you. They couldn't touch you. They'd go straight through.

Her head was yanked back and Hermione fell onto the earth with a  _thud_ , the back of her head smashing down hard on the ground. Her vision went haywire for a second, before a splitting pain erupted through her skull. She felt blinding pain before it had to be ignored; her back was scraping against something, twigs and pebbles making indentations and cuts; her shirt was askew, and Hermione felt the cold air swirl around her.

She was being pulled into a hole.

"No!" her yelp echoed around her, and she tried to reach for Harry's wand, she really did, but then she was abruptly jerked back.

To anyone it would have seemed that Harry Potter had merely vanished. A black hole was left, black and gaping, and the silence was almost intolerable.

Gasping, Hermione flew forward, gripping the sides of the hole. Harry's glasses were broken on her nose, but her eyes were clenched shut anyway. A groan was simmering in her chest, and she felt rather than heard its release rumble through her- _Harry's_  body, before one of her shoulders popped and the hands released her arms and legs, letting her fall heavily onto the pathway.

The shout of agony was her own – high-pitched and gurgling.

She ignored the stabbing pain, picking up the forgotten wand that was lying beneath the twigs and dust with her uninjured arm and running. Her shoulder throbbed and the idea alone of moving it made her nostrils flare with a feeling of dread. She stumbled, and knocked herself to the ground, landing on her right arm, emitting another scream of pain.

Laying there, Hermione drifted. She felt her sluggish movements, and knew she would pass out if she wasn't careful. She had to get through this – falling unconscious now was not helpful. The stars were now bright, the clouds gone. The night sky was a deep navy, almost black, and Hermione blinked sleepily. She thought of her best friends. She thought of the pain. She thought of  _Cedric_. Thinking his name, her eyes snapped open. She hadn't even realised they'd been shut. Her chest seared. Every breath was like a stab to her shoulder blade, and Hermione didn't want to think of all the other possible injuries she'd acquired in the last hour or so.

Her pants were torn, and her knees were bloody. She winced as she rose up onto them, heaving at the effort it took to then stand up. She needed to lean against something – anything – to get the weight off of her feet for a few moments. She thought of the hedges, but shuddered at the realisation that hands could again, just as easily, appear and snatch at her.

What were they? Hermione certainly hadn't been expecting that. In fact, she had never heard of anything like it before. It was surprising, not knowing something. But Hermione, as she dragged her feet along the ground in her determination to get moving, realised she could not care less. All she could think about was the  _white_. The hands had been so  _white_. Like they'd been covered in make-up. Like  _corpses_.

Breaths were coming in faster and lighter now, and Hermione heard a rasping. It wasn't until she was struggling for air that she realised it was her that was making the noise. Coming to a stop, her left arm holding her wand and clutching at her injured limb, Hermione bent over, retching.

 _Corpses_. Oh Merlin, she could think of nothing worse. After seeing the disgusting white of her grandfather at his open-casket funeral last year, Hermione had been resolute that she would never again see a dead person. She could never allow herself to glimpse a corpse, newly passed or not. It was revolting. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe.

She imagined Cedric, ghostly white, still and unmoving.

Hermione gagged.

Whines were coming from her now, and she struggled to keep them under control.

A snap of a twig alerted her to another's presence. She looked up, blinking away tears and holding back a sob.

She straightened abruptly.

"Are you okay?"

The steps of the Hufflepuff grew closer, and Hermione felt the sudden urge to bolt, but was sure her shoulder would not thank her for that. She nodded slowly, and coughed.

"I can deal with it."

He was close now, and Hermione breathed shakily.

"Let me have a look."

Her shirt was so ripped that Cedric only needed to gently move the cloth to the side to get a magnificent view of her aching shoulder.

"It's dislocated." His touch was gentle, light. Hermione flinched anyway. "Definitely dislocated." he announced, and lifted up his right arm, wand in hand.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded, wide-eyed. Her skin did not singe from where he touched it, something quite unusual given her infatuation with him.

He locked eyes with her.

"Trust me, Harry."

She looked away at the sound of her best friend's name, clenching her jaw to distract herself.

The spell must have been non-verbal, because suddenly her arm was no longer experiencing excruciating pain. Pain, yes. But bearable. She rolled it experimentally and found she could move it, although it was slightly stiff.

She looked over her shoulder at the sixth year.

"Thanks." she breathed. Cedric grinned.

There was a moment of silence before they both spoke

"So how-"

"Have yo-"

Both of them stopped, and Hermione took her chance.

"Have you seen anyone else?"

Cedric's expression darkened, and Hermione's stomach twisted in response.

"Only Fleur. After her scream-" Hermione pretended she'd heard it. Had she been so self-absorbed that even foreign sounds didn't seem to register with her? "-I came across her, unconscious. Her ankle was swollen and her arms were cut all over." Cedric shuddered, "I sent up red sparks."

Hermione nodded her head, wand rigid in her grip.

"How many things have you faced?" he asked, and he seemed genuinely curious. It was at that moment that Hermione finally looked at him fully.

His Quidditch robes were dusty and speckled with mud. She supposed hers were much the same. His hair was black in places, and the left sleeve of his robes was singed. His sweaty skin glistened in the moonlight, and his chest was heaving, although he did not sound at all breathless. He had a cut on his right eyebrow, and a trail of blood ran down the side of his face. He hadn't bothered to wipe it away.

"I- … I've seen two." she whispered brokenly. She cursed herself for the show of weakness. Harry would not be proud.

"It seems I've been luckier than you. Only encountered one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts." He seemed to shake his head in amusement. "And plenty of dead ends, too. What did you see?"

"Fire," she stated loudly, "And hands. Lots of dead hands."

Cedric looked disturbed but did not go on to say anything.

"Well, I guess we better get back." he said, and Hermione started forward without saying anything. She felt the stare on her back, but as she turned right, she ignored it.

How could she have done this? To herself, Harry and to Cedric? Merlin, she felt like such a moron. She should have listened to Dumbledore. She should have listened to her old self. But no, she'd had to go and fall in love and that stupid thing called a heart then decided to let itself become known. It had been for nothing. She should send up red sparks right now, end this whole thing. Cedric could win and then he could die someday in a graveyard, and she would live her life, upset, but able to move on. Harry would help her. Certainly he owed her that, didn't he? She choked on tears, and flung her heard back to look at the sky. It seemed ominous now, the previous beauty of the stars removed. They glinted menacingly, and Hermione snapped her gaze to back in front of her to get rid of the terrible image.

She walked on. Running had been no help before. In fact, time seemed to quicken when she was walking. What had seemed like five minutes was actually thirty, and after twenty more, Hermione turned left.

The cup.

She stopped immediately. This was it. This was the moment. It was make or break time, and Hermione felt her right hand twitch in anticipation. The whole year, she had waited for this. Her dreams centered around this, she knew. Her life, she was sure, centered around this. There was no other option, no other choice – the time was  _now._

It sat on a plinth, gleaming. It was mocking her almost, and as her stomach dropped down to her knees, Hermione realised something very bad was about to happen.

" _Crucio!_ " she heard from behind her. Her body twisted around, and she saw Krum, wand drawn, looking not at her but to his right. His face was demonic, and Hermione's feet rushed forward before her mind could tell them otherwise.

" _Stupefy!_ " She yelled, and Krum's knees buckled underneath him, his face now lying down in the dirt. She thought she saw his nose bleeding but did not care enough to give it a second thought.

Running quickly, she turned the sharp corner and saw Cedric sprawled on the ground, panting, wand by his side.

Restraining her female tendencies, she did what she hoped most men did in these circumstances.

She offered him a hand.

He seemed grateful as his still-larger hand grasped hers and he heaved. She nearly wasn't ready for his weight, but stabilized herself at the last second.

"It aches," Cedric groaned, rubbing at his chest, "All over."

"It tends to do that." Hermione said dryly, turning her back and going back to the cup.

_Harry Potter. You're Harry Potter. Harry. Potter. Harry, Harry, Har-_

Cedric came into step beside her and she heard his intake of breath at the sight of the Triwizard Cup. He seemed flabbergasted that she was merely walking toward the thing. Maybe he'd expected differently from Harry. She couldn't muster the energy to act like she hadn't seen it, or even that she wanted it. She simply  _was_. Cedric could decide what she seemed to want on his own.

"I can't believe Krum did that. An Unforgivable? I mean, I knew he wanted it, but not that badly."

Word vomit bubbled up her throat, and she spoke before she could edit – so unlike her.

"I think he was Bewitched." It was silent except for the pounding of their footsteps on the earth. Hermione was surprised Cedric hadn't bolted for the cup already. Instead, he strode on beside her, slowly edging toward it with her as a team.

_As a couple._

Hermione shook her head inwardly.  _Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry-_

"His eyes were glazed over. Krum's determined, but not  _that_  determined."

She heard the faint squelch of mud, and coincidentally ignored it.

They were nearing the end of the pathway now, and Cedric did not say another word. His loyalty to Harry, someone who wasn't even his friend, made Hermione's heart clench a little more at the thought of loving him. He was making it so easy. She'd always dreamt that her knight in shining armour would be someone just like her – someone who loved knowledge, loved rainy days inside, and loved the smell of fresh parchment. Someone who understood her because they  _were_  her.

Cedric was not that knight.

He was a different knight, though. He was the knight who knew all of those things about her, including how she had a logical mind, but was hopeless at chess; how she bit her lip in worry, gnawing at it until it often bled; and how she couldn't seem to drag herself out of bed before seven in the morning – he knew these things and he accepted them. He didn't love or do everything exactly the same, but he accepted them, and he adored her for it. Loved her, even.

At least, she thought he did.

They reached the end of the pathway. Three more steps and they would be in a clearing, in the centre the cup would sit, but-

Something didn't sit right.

She thrust her arm out, wand still in hand, and Cedric walked straight into it.

"What-"

She gestured at him to be quiet.

Bending down slowly, Hermione reached down with her left hand, and scooped up a handful of pebbles. Standing, she stared at the dirty stones lying in her calloused, manly hands.

Hermione lobbed the pebbles toward the cup.

As if acted on by a force, the pebbles incinerated as they passed the entranceway into the clearing. She looked to her right, and only slightly up – after all, Harry hadn't fully grown yet – and saw Cedric, slack-jawed, staring at the entranceway. He bent down and grabbed a single pebble, throwing it as far as he could. Before he could see whether it had made it past the cup, it simply disappeared past the entranceway.

"There are two possible reasons," Hermione went on, ignoring Cedric, who was stuttering in disbelief, "One – whatever passes through combusts." Cedric seemed to blanch at this idea, and jerked his head, as if to say  _'keep going'._  "Two – it is an illusion. We see the pebble incinerate, when in actual fact it has passed smoothly into the clearing, unharmed."

"And you know this  _how_?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione swallowed nervously, wracking her brains for a plausible excuse.

"Uh… Hermione told me this might happen." It felt weird to say her own name out loud when it wasn't in the context that the other person did not know it. Speaking about herself in third person made Hermione feel as though the whole thing was an out-of-body experience. Although she supposed it  _was_ , for all intents and purposes.

"But how do we know? Is there something we can do to test it?" Cedric questioned hastily, sticking his hand out as if to touch the invisible force-field, but stopping at the last minute.

"Well we can stand here for hours and throw pebble after pebble, or we can just walk through it."

Cedric's head whirled to the left, staring at her.

"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed, looking between her and the entranceway.

At her unchanging expression, Cedric's seemed to go into a panic.

"What- you'll- how- you'll get yourself  _killed_ \- are you think- how is- why-"

Hermione stepped through the entranceway. Apart from a slight tingling sensation - which she was sure  _wasn't_  her incinerating - she was not surprised to find that the cup was clearly ahead of her. Looking around, she smiled to herself. The force-field was there for a reason, and she was sure that she was now safe. No other obstacles lay between her and the cup.

She was safe.

_Cedric, hurry up already._

As if he had been listening, Hermione turned and heard a yelp. Cedric had jumped through the force-field. He patted down his body, checking for all parts, and seemed satisfied. He looked back at the entranceway and shook his head, still seemingly in disbelief. Turning around, he saw the cup and rushed over to Hermione.

"You should take it," he said, "You saved me from Krum." He spat the name out in disgust.

"It was a group effort," Hermione provided lamely, "Besides; I think it should be a Hogwarts victory, not a Harry Potter one – don't you?" She moved her head to take a peek at Cedric and he seemed to be looking at her with something akin to respect. That was the best she was going to get, she supposed.

"We're taking this together. Enough of the noble crap, Cedric."

He looked shocked at her outburst, and she remembered that Harry would never have said something like that, but shook it off. He'd find out eventually, anyway.

Her feet were sore, and she could feel the blisters forming. Her clothes were ripped and she was shivering in the cold breeze. She was sweaty and disgusting, dirty and grimy, and felt that even had she taken a bath, she would still be covered in dust and mud. Her wand felt so breakable in her hand, and Harry's was still tucked safely away in her pocket, unmovable. Harry's glasses were cracked, but usable. Her eyes were unusually dry, but she was sure that was going to change soon enough. Her right shoulder ached with the memory of her dislocation, and her stomach churned at the thought of the colour white.

All in all, Hermione did not have the patience or the good humour to wait around while Cedric decided that, morally, he shouldn't take the cup.

Grabbing onto the Cedric's arm and tuning out his protests, Hermione took one last look at the clearing before grabbing onto the handle.

When they landed, Hermione vomited. Cedric was green. Was it just her or was that a particularly violent port key? They were both on the ground, and Hermione was dry heaving to get rid of the bile that still lingered in her mouth. She heard Cedric's groan and saw him get up from the corner of her eyes. She tried to speak to him, but her throat closed up. This was strangely familiar. The feelings, the pain, the body –

_Oh my God._

It was  _now_. Cedric was meant to die  _now._

"Someone's coming…" she managed to rasp out, her throat scratchy. Cedric turned at the sound of her- _Harry's_  voice.

Her forehead did not hurt, like she predicted. It had happened in all of her dreams. Apparently real life liked to be different. Who knew?

A figure emerged, dressed in black. Small and lumpy, it walked awkwardly toward the two. Through her hazy eyes –  _damn it; work, realise_  – she saw Cedric straighten, wand now held out defensively, pointing at the intruder. He was frowning. He glanced at her quickly before resuming his gaze toward the fidgeting man.

"Who are you?" he ordered rather than asked. His voice did not waver.

"Kill the spare." said a cold, high voice. At first, she did not register its words - its timbre was wholly unnatural, and Hermione winced at its harshness.

When she did, however, her eyes widened, and on instinct her sore limbs sprung to life, propelling her form the ground so that she was now standing. She saw a quick movement of a wand coming into the hands of the short, stumpy, cloaked man who was striding closer. Her hand was gripped firmly on her-  _Harry's_  wand.

"Cedric." she said, her voice a warning. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. The other man was advancing slowly and Hermione almost wanted to laugh at the way he was trying to draw this out.

She was backing away toward Cedric, who was doing the same. Their shoulders touched at the same height, causing a slight shock for Hermione, but otherwise providing a sense of reassurance.

All of a sudden, it happened.

She heard a shout, a curse, a  _thud_.

The green light blinded her. She did not want to believe it. She could not.

Had she failed already?

The area was empty. Vacant.

… What?

_Well if I'll be damned._

She blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel what was surely an illusion her brain had come up with to cope with her loss-

She choked on her own thoughts.

Everything became a lot clearer, and Hermione saw a flicker of mustard yellow behind a large tombstone.

 _Oh, thank Merlin,_  she thought.

"KILL THE SPARE!"

The shriek was inhuman and Hermione covered her ears at the sound. She scrambled away, ducking in and out of and around tombstones. She heard rattling breaths on her neck and threw a wayward jinx behind her shoulder. She heard a cry as she came to a stop behind a large pillar.

"CEDRIC!" she screamed, not caring if she sounded like a girl at the present time. She was desperate. She moved from her position behind the pillar and ran as fast as she could toward the mustard yellow, behind the cover of shrubs.

She landed beside him. He seemed stunned to see her at first, and held up his wand as if to tell her that he was going to fight. She held up her own, and he grinned at her then. She wondered how he could be so blasé about it, but realised it was one of the things she loved about him – he balanced her.

"Kill him!" the creepy voice exclaimed. She looked at Cedric. He was looking at her, too.

"My lord, Potter-"

Hermione's hand instinctively went to push Cedric back against the headstone they were leaning on – he had been just about to get up. He was not dying now. Not now, not ever.

He looked to her incredulously but she shook her head.

A scream erupted from twenty feet away, and Hermione nearly snapped her neck as she turned to the sound.

Out of the corner of her mouth she managed to whisper, "Do what I say. We have to get out of here."

She could hear the pants of the man getting louder and nearer, and it was nearly time-

"Cedric," she murmured breathlessly. She saw his eyes widen and wondered why, until she realised she could feel hair moving down her neck. She felt herself shorten, and as she stared wide-eyed at Cedric, she heard him gasp.

"Hermione?" he said. Too loud. Much too loud. Slapping a hand over his mouth, she looked around. It was suddenly quiet.

"POTTER!" the screech caused her to spin around, and she gave an unmanly scream.

Cedric pulled her away from the man and the bundle that was in his arms. He stood in front of her as she tried to stand next to him. His grip was firm and Hermione was already missing Harry's strength.

The man seemed to be able to guess their relationship after he saw Hermione's real face. The hood of his cloak fluttered and slipped a little, revealing-

" _You._ " Hermione said through clenched teeth. She clenched her wand tightly as she stepped to the side. Not expecting the quickness of Pettigrew, he threw a curse at her silently.

"Hermione!" was all she heard before a sudden ethereal presence took over her mind. She felt at peace. Everything was fuzzy, and there was a voice in her head.

_Kill him… kill the Hufflepuff… you must kill the boy… he is of no importance to you… kill him… achieve greatness…_

She felt her wand arm start to move, to point toward where she saw Cedric, struggling against his bindings to a statue. She couldn't hear anything but the voice – Cedric seemed to be trying to say something, but she couldn't hear him. He was yelling it, she saw. Hermione took a step closer. She wanted to know what he was saying, but she couldn't see because of the fuzziness. She blinked sleepily, and took another step closer. Her wand was still raised, and she saw Cedric's face become panicked, desperate. He seemed to be pleading with her. Why was he pleading? She wasn't doing anything wrong.

_Kill him… destroy him…_

She took another step closer. She was smiling, she realised. It was so pleasant here, so nice. She wished it was like this all the time-

_Come on… use it. Kill him with it._

She didn't want to. Not yet. She wanted to know what he was saying. She inched closer.

_Kill him… hurry up, you idiot girl!_

Her half-lidded eyes moved to Cedric's and she looked down to his lips. She could read them, they were saying-

"Don't do this, Hermione. Hermione! Please! Hermione, I love you!"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, fighting it.

_Do it. Now. Destroy the boy…_

"But I don't want to."

_Destroy him!_

"No."

_KILL HIM!_

"NO!"

Hermione snapped her eyes open, the haze gone. Everything came back with a startling clarity. The dirt under her nails irritated her. Her knuckles were white with the pressure they exuded on her wand, and Cedric was bound to a statue, standing, panting. A red mark was on his face, as if he'd been punched. His eyes were frantic as they looked to Pettigrew. Hermione raised her wand, this time at the man. She saw his mouth move, and was just about to open hers when she felt something hard and sharp hit the side of her head.

When she woke, Hermione was being dragged along the ground to the base of a tombstone by her hair. Dry and wiry, it was still strong.

She saw the name on the headstone before Pettigrew slammed her head into the stone, making her eyes water and her head pound.

_TOM RIDDLE_

Ropes were tied around her in her delirious state. She had no energy to fight back and her head lulled to the side, staring at the other side of the small circle of graves to Cedric, sheen of sweat on his brow and dirt caked on his lips. His nose looked to have been bleeding, but it was not broken. His chest was moving up and down rapidly, and if Hermione hadn't known better, she would have said he was having an Asthma attack.

Her head lulled to the other side, and Hermione saw, behind Pettigrew's shoulder as he tightened her bindings, a cauldron. It was enormous, made of stone, and full of what seemed to be water.

The bundle Pettigrew had had in his arms previously was now laying, three feet away from her. She tried to peer into it but failed, only able to see a gnarled, wrinkled hand of a baby. All of a sudden Hermione got the feeling that she didn't want to see the bundle, didn't want its blankets to be taken from it. She looked away to stop bile from building up in her throat.

When Pettigrew was done, he moved away from her. She thought she saw a snake slither away near the cauldron, but she blinked and it was gone. Flames erupted from the base of the huge stone pot, and the solution in the cauldron began to bubble, spitting sparks and looking extremely shiny. Steam billowed from it, and Hermione coughed as the fumes floated her way, smelling of off garbage and wet dog simultaneously.

Hermione looked away as Pettigrew approached her, picking up the bundle and placing it in the potion – she assumed from the splashing she had heard.

_Let the thing drown. Merlin, just let it die._

As she looked over to Cedric, she saw his horrified expression and swore he was mouthing the same words.

" _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!_ " Pettigrew's timid voice rang out throughout the graveyard, reverberating off of the stone. It echoed, but, solemnly, Hermione knew no one would hear him.

The grave beneath Hermione cracked open, and she shrieked in surprise, scrambling to move out of the way. Dust floated out of the crack and into the cauldron. As it flew by her, Hermione smelt rotting skin and nearly gagged. It floated into the cauldron as Pettigrew continued, sobbing.

" _Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master._ "

A long, thin, shining silver dagger glittered in the moonlight, and Hermione cried out as she saw what the rat was about to do.

"No!"

But it was too late. Pettigrew cut his hand cleanly off, and it dropped into the cauldron below after a scream pierced the air. The potion was a horrible red, something that reminded Hermione of blood, dark blood.

 _That's because it is,_  Hermione thought wryly.

" _B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe._ "

Pettigrew was advancing - huddled over, but still advancing. Hermione shrunk back against the tombstone, trying to become one with it so as to escape Pettigrew's hands. She yanked at the ropes tying her but to no avail. A whimper escaped her throat, and she cursed herself for being so weak.

The silver dagger, the same one Pettigrew used to cut off his hand, appeared in front of her. She snapped her head to the left, staring at Cedric. He was pulling hard on his ropes, struggling to break free. She caught his eyes and he stopped, horrorstruck at what Hermione couldn't see. She felt a sharp sting on her right arm and flinched, still holding her stare on Cedric. Her body seemed to be twitching, and it was only after Pettigrew moved away that she realised she was silently sobbing, her chest jerking with the movement.

She heard heaving and sobbing from her right, but dared not look over. A simmering could be heard, and Hermione saw a bright white light come from the cauldron out of her peripheral vision. Cedric was still looking at her, face helpless. She didn't move.

Steam became heavy around them as the light suddenly extinguished, and Hermione took a deep breath to ready herself for what she knew was coming.

 _Please, oh Merlin, please…_  she pleaded.

As the mist thinned, Hermione turned her head to see the outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me." said the same high, cold voice from the bundle. Hermione's heart stopped in her chest, and her stomach dropped right to the ground.

As Pettigrew robed the man, he stepped out of the cauldron, took his wand from the rat, and stepped forward into her line of sight.

Hermione looked up at the man- no, the  _monster_  who had ruined her life. Whiter than bone, red eyes gleaming, a slitted nose and a satisfied smile on his face, he spoke with amusement.

"My, my – what do we have here?"


	17. The End

"Don't touch her!"

Hermione's eyes flickered over to Cedric before she met Voldemort's gaze once more.

The man's eyes crinkled with his grin, something so human that it didn't look right on his snake-like face. Hermione stared at him in wonder. How was it that a man such as Tom Riddle, a man with so much potential, had gone done this path? Hermione saw the angular face, the sharp, intelligent eyes, and figured he had once been an attractive man. The charm he was known for would be no good now, she was sure. For if someone saw his face, they would not be charmed – they would be horrified. As it was, Hermione was struggling to maintain her gaze; as horrid as he was, she feared that were she to look away he would unleash the magic inside of him, the magic she could sense in the air. It seemed almost comical to say that the air was crackling with his power, but Hermione could find no other ways to describe it.

"Well isn't this sweet," Voldemort said, and his voice was not like a hiss, as she had remembered. It was smooth, velvety, and ultimately too normal for such a monster. The seductive undertone was there, and Hermione wondered whether it ever went away. "The spare wants to save the day," She presumed what came out of his mouth next was intended to be a cackle of laughter – "I thought I told you to kill him, Wormtail."

The remark was sharp, and Hermione looked to see Pettigrew recoil at the anger simmering behind it.

"I will deal with you later." Voldemort spoke quietly, as if letting the rat off the hook. Hermione stared at the quivering lump in amazement – did he not know that Voldemort never let  _anyone_  off the hook? If you did wrong, you paid for it. No exceptions. Even Hermione knew that.

He turned to Cedric now, striding forward. From where she was sitting, slumped and bloody against a tombstone, it looked to be that Voldemort was gliding.

Her hands stung as she tried to wretch them from her bindings once more. She could feel the burn, and didn't think her wrists would ever be the same again. Would they have a permanent red ring around them, evidence of this night? Hermione didn't want to think about it.

Cedric spat at the hem of his clean black robes.

Voldemort clucked his tongue, idly playing with his wand in front of Cedric.

"It seems manners are no longer taught at Hogwarts." Voldemort said casually, as if talking about etiquette and education was something he did on a regular basis. To be honest, Hermione didn't want to know what Voldemort thought of as idle chit chat, and instead chose to observe quietly.

"No matter," the black-robed snake said nonchalantly, "You will be taught your lesson soon enough."

Hermione wanted to shiver at the implications hidden underneath the calm words.

He turned away from Cedric's determined eyes and clenched jaw, instead focusing on her now. She fought the sobs that threatened to burst from her lungs, instead staring solidly at the ground, chest heaving, feeling the great trail of blood still running down her face from where Pettigrew had knocked her out with a rock.

"A complication, Hermione Granger," he announced, and she looked to him in shock. He chuckled. "Yes, I know your name. Did you think you, best friend of Harry Potter and a fellow Death Seer could escape my notice? Why," he paused as Hermione stared, pale white, into his red eyes, "I heard you were intelligent. Have my ears deceived me?"

There was silence, and it seemed even Pettigrew had forgotten to sob for his lost hand. She saw his beady eyes travelling to her and Voldemort obsessively, and she looked away to Cedric. He was staring at the Dark Lord with a hatred she had never seen in him, a hatred that was almost unnatural.

She swallowed thickly, opening her mouth to say something, anything-

"I don't think so, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?" She tried to force out the words, to tell him no. No, he couldn't; because the day she let him call her Hermione would be the day she fell in love with Ron. And that was, simply, never going to happen. But his charm was still in effect, and she could not make a sound.

"I don't think you realise how much I know. Through many sources, in Hogwarts and out, I have found you to be particularly interesting. Your loyalty, reckless bravery, your temper – all Gryffindor qualities. Useful, but based purely on emotions. And yet you possess a strength of will, a cunning I have seen little of in the past year, and a thirst for knowledge so great I would nearly say it surpassed my own," he smirked at her, " _Nearly_."

"So my question to you, Hermione, is this-" He turned away, and it was as if he spoke to the night air rather than to her. "Just what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Hermione was sure her face showed at least some of her surprise, but as Voldemort turned back to her, his robes billowing, he seemed not to see her reaction. Suddenly, she felt air rush through her airways – clearer, colder, and a lot more satisfying. The spell had been removed.

"You may answer now."

There was silence for a few moments, and Voldemort suddenly opened his mouth, stepping forward as if to threaten her.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean." her voice replied, feebly. She heard the tremor, and saw that Voldemort had heard it too, given his patronizing smile, almost fatherly. Hermione wanted to retch.

"I mean, Hermione dear," she recoiled at the endearment, "That I want to know why you think you can defeat me." His voice seemed to steadily rise, and Hermione pushed herself up with her hands, still tied and behind the gravestone. She thought she heard something crack, and felt a sudden pain, but ignored it. "A mere fourth year. A Gryffindor, too. Do you really think you can match me in power, in skill?" He scoffed. "And people think you're intelligent?"

The laughter that sounded throughout the graveyard was chilling, and Hermione breathed deeply to calm her racing heart.

"How, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor mudblood, do you think you even have a  _chance?_ " He was shouting now, voice still smooth.

She stared at him in confusion, not speaking.

Voldemort whirled toward Pettigrew, screeching. He held out his hand, as if to help the lump up. Wormtail seemed mistaken as, after giving his hand to his lord, he was yanked forward, face nearly hitting the ground, and sleeve then pulled up.

"Let us see whether your  _friends_ -" And he spat the word, Wormtail whimpering, "-will join us once more."

An inky red tattoo could be seen on Pettigrew's forearm.

The Dark Mark.

Voldemort pressed his forefinger, white and skeletal, to the brand on Wormtail's arm. She heard the rat's yelp and the satisfied hiss of the Dark Lord. The latter moved away, and she saw a glimpse of the horrid mark – a skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth – now jet black.

A minute later – Hermione could not tell – pops sounded throughout the graveyard. Hermione looked to Cedric, still wrestling with his rope, and the look on his face was evidently confusion.

"My Death Eaters," Voldemort proclaimed proudly, skin looking translucent in the firelight, scarlet eyes glinting, "You have returned to me, thirteen years later, to the graveyard in which my father resides. You have returned, though none of you dared to help me during this time?"

His slit-like nostrils flared, and Hermione felt fear sweep over her.

"You must be  _punished_." As the last word left his mouth, he pointed his wand at a tall and burly-looking man in the black robes and white mask. He dropped to the ground heavily, contorting and twisting and screaming and scratching at his face.

The spell was lifted, and the Death Eater got up roughly, panting, and resumed his place calmly in the circle that had formed around the graves, Cedric and Hermione, Wormtail, the cauldron, and Voldemort.

Her fear rose, and Hermione started to panic. Struggling again to release herself of her ropes, she pulled away from the tombstone behind her, kicking her legs.

"Let me go! Let us go!"

All heads seemed to turn to her, and she remained hysterical, flailing her limbs and screaming unintelligible words.

She was slapped.

Hermione stilled, her cheek stinging and tears now running down her face. She was breathing heavily, and suddenly wished for a tissue.

"Thank you, Wormtail."

The man mentioned bowed deeply, limping over to his spot and whimpering in pain.

"Ah yes, our guests. Death Eaters, I introduce to you Hermione Granger," his arms swept in her direction and the eyes followed. "And-" he paused, and Cedric seemed to understand the reason why.

"Cedric Diggory." Cedric spat, like his own name was filthy.

Voldemort smiled.

"Cedric Diggory," he repeated, sweeping his arm toward the Hufflepuff.

"M-my lord-"

"Quiet, Wormtail."

Silence came upon them, like a thick blanket. It was suffocating, and Hermione desperately wanted to break it.

"My wish for Harry Potter to be here has not been fulfilled. Instead, we have… his best friend."

There were gasps and mutterings around the Death Eater circle, until Voldemort spoke once more.

"Her arrogance has led her to believe that she can defeat Lord Voldemort. She has come here tonight, a mudblood, hoping to kill me."

_What?_

It was then that Hermione realised Voldemort didn't seem to know the full story. He thought she had switched places with Harry because she wanted to kill him, murder Lord Voldemort.

She almost wanted to laugh with relief.

That meant he didn't know. He said he did, but he actually didn't. She was a Death Seer, yes, but how important could that information be if Voldemort didn't know who she had seen die?

Her head  _thunk_ ed against the stone behind her, and she saw the sky overhead, black as ebony, empty and never-ending.

"And now, my servants, we will see how eager Hermione is."

She was pulled from the ground, ropes released, and thrown down. She blinked to rid herself of the pain, and looked up from the mud to see Voldemort towering over her, face still.

"Give her a wand, Wormtail."

Her own wand was flung at her, and she caught it, fumbling.

"Get the boy."

She saw Cedric, struggling, released by two Death Eaters and held standing, hands behind his back and looking on. He seemed to want to catch her eye, but she did not allow it. Seeing him would make her will crumble.

"And now, we duel.  _Crucio_."

_Being hit by a bus, snapping a leg, getting eaten alive, starving to death, getting stabbed sixteen times in the same spot, serrated blade moving in and out of her, the last time she saw her parents – smiling and crying just like every year, skinned alive, every bone in her body breaking one by one, acid eating at her insides, Ron and Harry wrestling in the common room, vomiting over and over and over and over, blood dripping down her face, eyes gouged, the food at Hogwarts; homey and beautiful, needles sticking into her like a pincushion, blood everywhere, Cedric grinning at her crookedly, a burning in her veins, Cedric's flushed cheeks, Cedric's soft hair, Cedric's help, Cedric's laugh, Cedric's love-_

She lay, gasping, on the ground. Her wand was still in her hand, whose knuckles were pale white and aching. Her body thrummed with adrenalin and she heard a soft beating in her ears. She felt the damp grass beneath her and closed her eyes, breathing in the air surrounding but not smelling it.

"Come now, my dear, embrace the magic."

She felt her head split in two.

It was exactly like Dumbledore's office. She felt symptoms of diseases and viruses she'd never had assault her instantly. Her body was weak, coughing up blood and sniffling, sweaty and dirty, trying to stand up. Images flew past her like a movie on rewind, and she blinked repeatedly to try and dispel the image. It was blurry, despite Harry's glasses now in her pocket given she didn't need them.

She fell to the ground once more, breathless and gutted.

"Ah, I see."

 _What? What do you see?_  Hermione thought desperately.

"The girl is in love…" Voldemort announced, as if it were the most peculiar thing in the world. She heard mocking laughter echo around her. "With the boy."

The laughter became louder.

Hermione screamed.

She stood up swiftly, pointing her wand at Voldemort. She knew he saw her. She knew, she did. But she couldn't deal with this anymore.

" _Stupefy!_ " she yelled.

He deflected it so easily.

"Hermione Granger," he sighed, "Do you really think you can defeat me?" He stepped closer.

"I can try!" Hermione screamed, firing another spell, which was blocked again.

"When will you mudbloods learn-" Voldemort said, his voice rising and his eyes flashing dangerously. "-that  _you cannot match Lord Voldemort!_ " he screamed fiercely, and Hermione saw his face contort into something so utterly  _not_  human that she turned and ran.

She ignored the cries of Voldemort and his followers behind her and ran. She saw the cup in a ditch, thirty feet away and glimmering. She hid behind a statue, panting heavily and waiting for the opportune moment.

"Hold the boy," she heard him say. "Put him against the wall. He has no wand."

She heard Cedric shouting, and then the sound of a punch. Whether it was to his face or his stomach, Hermione did not know.

"Come out, girl," Voldemort taunted. She could almost hear the mirth in his voice. "Surely you want to see your  _friend,_ " he spat the word, "die."

Her sudden intake of breath nearly made her cough and reveal her whereabouts, but she stopped herself.

She couldn't let Cedric die. This wasn't how she'd seen him die, but he still could. Just because her premonition was over didn't mean that the possibility wasn't there.

Hermione closed her eyes in defeat. It was her or him. She was going to die, or Cedric.

Love made people selfless. Or maybe it was selfish – it was hard to say. Love made people die for one another. She would die for Cedric – but was it so he could live, or so that she wouldn't have to suffer all the pain if he were gone? Hermione didn't care to think into it. She would die. She was going to die. She had to.

For Cedric.

She took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind the statue. Voldemort was smiling happily, as if he knew his plan would work all along.

"Take me," she ordered weakly, and she saw Cedric blanch from his position against the wall, held by two Death Eaters. "Take me instead. Let him go."

"Why, I thought you'd never ask!" Voldemort replied haughtily, and he nodded to the two Death Eaters holding Cedric. They shoved him into the wall before resuming their positions behind their lord.

"Men," Voldemort exclaimed.

He paused, and Hermione saw his eyes. She knew then that regardless of what she would say, he would not take her offer.

" _Fire!_ "

"Please, no!" she yelped, hands reaching forward, legs moving, as if to stop it from happening.

Voldemort put his hand out as if to stop his followers, but one must have been too eager.

Cedric doubled over, holding his stomach. She could see blood, slowly dripping from his hands into the dust.

A slicing hex, from the looks of it. To his abdomen. Would he survive?

Merlin, Hermione would  _make_  him.

She raised her wand. Voldemort, seeing her do so, raised his own. His mouth opened as hers did, and she did what she needed to do.

" _Stupefy!_ "

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The two spells collided with each other, and Hermione felt as if an electric shock had run through her.

She felt the electricity, the power. And she had no other explanation but-

_Priori Incantatem._

Harry and Voldemort must have similar wand cores.

She'd forgotten she was using his.

She was fighting to keep her hold on her- _Harry's_  wand. It was slipping, slipping through her sweaty hands, almost out of her grip-

She grabbed it with a renewed fervor. The gold light connecting their wands made her own shudder and groan, and Hermione looked at it in worry, her eyebrows creasing in panic. She looked to the other side of the light and saw Voldemort, squinting, struggling to maintain his grasp on a shaking wand.

With a scream that she had not expected, Hermione pulled the wand back heavily, arms straining, stomach clenching painfully, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes.

With a snap like a cord, the light broke in half, flinging back like a whip. It burned, and Hermione could feel the heat. From where the two spells had combined, there was now a line of fire coming out of Hermione's wand, and she stared at it in amazement as it flickered in the air, strong and bright.

She advanced forward, and the Death Eaters dispersed, running to escape the line of fire. Voldemort stood, graceful, surprised, and unconcerned.

She grabbed Cedric's arm, pulling him along behind her.

"Wha-"

Breathe. In, out. In, out.

"This is not the time for explanations. RUN!"

He was stumbling as she dragged him, and as Hermione looked down at him, she saw the blood slowly coating his robes and his hands, now red, fisting his shirt.

Whirling her wand arm around, the whip circled, daring any foe to come near. She saw the cup.

"Cedric! You have to summon it!" she yelled over the roar of the fire, and the wind it was slowly creating. She looked behind her, and Voldemort was as he was before – still and unmoving, locking her eyes in a steady glare. She tore them from him and looked back to the cup, seeing the Dark Lord's followers coming closer now, watching the whip as it seemed to be dying out, becoming weaker, shortening…

"CEDRIC!"

" _Accio Cup!_ "

It flew at them, and Hermione and Cedric both grasped the handle. The last thing she saw was Voldemort's controlled face, angry eyes, and the shocked expressions of his Death Eaters as the whip was extinguished and they vanished from sight.

She glimpsed a green light hitting Cedric, and she screamed.

They both slammed into the ground.

Cedric wasn't moving.

"Cedric!" she screamed, turning him over to face her.

He was pale, eyes closed, didn't seem to be breathing…

"HERMIONE!"

She couldn't believe it. No, she wouldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening. Tears rolled down her face, and she felt them carry dust and grime. She couldn't. She just couldn't. What was this? This wasn't happening. It all went by so fast. No, it was a mistake. Fate was wrong. It hadn't. It hadn't happened. She gripped his arm and thought she saw him twitch. Trick of the light, maybe. No point in hope now. Hope was useless.  _She_  was useless. Everything was useless.

How could she go on? How could she keep living?

Hermione brushed his hair back, tears dripping onto his cheeks and running down his face. It almost seemed like he was crying.

Her head was buried in his cheat, and she was heaving, retching. White, the white was disgusting.

She didn't hear a heartbeat. Her own thudded against her chest, mocking her. Maybe she could use her own wand. Point it at her head, say the words. Words that had killed Cedric.

Hands pulled at her, pulled at her shoulders and arms and legs and brushed her hair away from her face. She was rocking, holding his hand and brushing at his hair, cradling his cheek. His once flushed cheek now pale. Ghostly.

She screamed in agony. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. It wasn't meant to go this way. She was meant to save him. She was meant to help him. She was meant to save him and help him and  _love him_ , God damn it!

"Hermione, wake up, come on."

"Oh Merlin!"

"He's dead, he's dead!"

"The boy…"

"What is she doing there?"

"Help her! Help him!"

"Get Dumbledore!"

Hermione leant forward and placed her trembling lips on his. They were motionless and she cried into his neck.

_I love you. Why did you leave me?_

The sounds were deafening. The shouts and the screams, the footsteps and the voices echoing in her ears.

"There's a pulse." A voice loomed above them, "Get them both to the hospital wing, immediately."

She grabbed Cedric's shirt, not letting go.

"Come on, Granger." The voice was gruff, like it hadn't been used for a long while. She hiccoughed, sniffling and swaying and not accepting.

_Gone._

"Hospital wing for you," Hands were under her arms, lifting. She felt them stabilize her. "That's right. Come on now." Her feet were dragging and she felt woozy. The cut on her arm was painless, but her shoulder was throbbing and her muscles were tensed with anticipation. But it was over.

The man pulling her, supporting her – he was panting, heavy and in a rhythm. She listened to it, counting to keep her going.

_One, two. One, two. One, one, two. One, two. One, two. One, one, two._

"What happened?" she was asked, and she felt steps beneath her feet.  _Clunk. Clunk._

It was Professor Moody.

Her stomach turned and she wanted to gag.

They were in the castle now. She could feel the cool draft and the familiarity, and she all of a sudden wanted to sleep.

"Sleepy..." she murmured, blinking tiredly.

"Don't fall asleep, Granger. Whatever you do." The voice demanded roughly, pushing her into a comfortable leather chair by a fire. She felt something being tipped down her throat but she did not care enough to realise it may have been something detrimental.

"I need to know what happened."

She blinked at her professor blankly, and coughed. She put her head in her hands and her hair flew around her face, making it itch.

"The cup was a Portkey." She muttered, looking up at her wrinkled and scarred teacher, "It took me and Cedric to a graveyard… and Voldemort was there…"

She ignored the sting of her eyes at  _his_  name.

"What happened then?"

"Tied up... got his body back… duel…"

Hermione couldn't go on. Her throat was closing up and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks once more. Just how much more could she take? Her body was exhausted, and her mind wasn't much better. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she tried to drown out the way Moody scooted his own chair closer.

"He's back? How did he do it?"

"He performed a ritual." Hermione said, eyeing Moody. Something wasn't right. And based on the whole evening's events, she wanted to trust her feelings because they had been correct. Moody's eyes were crazed, staring intently at her, and searching her body for something.

"How did you get cut?"

She glanced down at her right arm, and saw the wound that Pettigrew had inflicted on her to get her blood. She saw its angry swelling, and the oozing blood. She did not feel it.

Should she tell him? He seemed genuine enough, but she got the sense that not everything was as it seemed…

"Pettigrew-" she growled out his name "-cut me. He took my blood for the ritual."

Moody hissed through his teeth, and she saw his pale skin flush. Was it with excitement or anger? Hermione couldn't tell.

"You messed it up, Granger!"

Hermione frowned in surprise. Her mind felt fuzzy. She didn't understand why her professor was acting this way. Surely… ?

"I had it all planned out, all done. And you had to go and ruin it!"

It was almost a whine, and Hermione stared at him incredulously. He looked tortured. He looked exhausted. He looked betrayed.

"He won't like this, not at all. Oh, what have I done?" There was a pause as Moody worried to himself, then he stared at Hermione. She swallowed thickly. " _You_. You mudblood bitch!" He backhanded her and she was thrown from her chair, landing on the ground. Her injured shoulder took the fall, and Hermione wondered if it was ever going to catch a break.

"You did this. It was perfect. I warned you. Oh, but of course, you had to meddle anyway!" He gave a shriek not unlike Voldemort's and that was when Hermione realised.

_Mudblood._

"Y-you Obliviated me! You made me forget!" she said in disbelief.

"'You made me forget!'" he said in a high-pitched voice. He was mocking her. Professor Moody… Hermione couldn't wrap her head around it.

Suddenly the haze was gone from her mind, and Hermione thought back, and back, and back, to that one day in Moody's office.

" _Now you listen here, Granger," he snarled, "I've had just about enough of your attitude. You will listen in my class or I will_ make _you listen. Do you understand me?"_

_She nodded weakly._

" _That doesn't cut it,_ Mudblood _."_

_Her eyes narrowed._

" _You will stop whatever it is you're doing."_

"You're not Mad-Eye Moody." She stated, still staring up at him from the floor. He  _clunk_ ed over, and kicked her in the stomach. The wooden leg bruised her ribs, and she just hoped they hadn't broken.

"Indeed." he stated, and just continued to stand over her. She could see her wand, discarded by the fire. Why had she dropped it? Why?

She had to act. She couldn't lay here, vulnerable and about to be tortured. She went to get up swiftly and grab for her wand, but Moody, or whoever he was, was quicker. He shot a slicing hex at her, and it caught her cheek. She felt the warm liquid trickle down it.

"Let that be a reminder  _not to move_."

She stared at him, searching his eyes.

_Do you need other people to help you all the time? Can't you do anything by yourself? Pick yourself up, you piece of shi-_

He slammed his wooden foot down on hers, and Hermione screamed in anguish. Broken, definitely broken.

"I must kill you now. You've been far too great a nuisance to be kept around much longer. I plan to leave, but you know who I am. You know I am Barty Crouch Junior,"

Hermione was stunned at the confession but tried to act like she wasn't surprised.

Moody had always hated her. How did she miss it? So weak.

"I was lucky," he said quietly, staring into her eyes, "You were such a fool. Love was your downfall. Goodbye, Hermione Granger. Have fun in the afterlife."

He raised his wand menacingly, and she blinked back tears, thinking of nothing but  _him_.

_I'll be there soon._

She shifted and felt something poke her side. Wincing, she reached into her pocket, and came across-

Her wand.

She'd forgotten she had two.

In one move, she grasped it and pointed-

" _Stupefy!_ "

" _Stupefy!_ "

Two voices yelled the spell and Barty Crouch Jr fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Hermione! Oh thank Merlin ye safe!"

She saw Hagrid lumber over, and a smile stretched across her tired face.

He knelt down beside her, and Hermione closed her eyes wearily. His great big hands shook her.

"Hermione, dun fall asleep. Dun fall asleep, now." He said this over and over, but Hermione didn't hear it.

Her leg was badly broken – she could feel the bone piercing the skin – and her right arm was spent. She didn't think she'd be able to use it again. Her head pounded and Hermione struggled to fight the blackness moving in from the edges of her vision.

"No… no…" she muttered weakly, pushing at Hagrid's arms.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was death. Cedric was there, he had experienced it. Maybe she could, too. She wanted to join him, spend the rest of her dead life with him. She couldn't live with this, she couldn't. She faintly heard Dumbledore say something about the hospital wing and Hagrid agreeing. She was lifted into thick, strong arms. They were under her head and her knees. She felt the slight sway of her carrier as they walked, and she drifted.

Blood caked her face, mud was all over her. Hermione tried to blink but all she could see were blurs. Sounds were dulled and soon there was silence ringing in her ears. The pain was immense, and as she thought of Cedric, she tried to ignore it. It was time.

And in the arms of Hagrid, Hermione finally succumbed to the darkness enveloping her.


	18. Death

As Hermione lay on the hospital bed, she wondered a few things. One of them was where exactly she was laying. Another was why the hell she felt so much pain, especially in her leg. The last thing she wondered, or really pondered, was the slight ache in her chest. Surely this would be included in the wondering of the excruciating pain, but no – this was a different sort of ache, a different sort of sting. To Hermione, she realised that it was wholly emotional, like she had lost something dear to her. And that was when her memories rushed to the forefront of her mind. She felt her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her muscles tensed up. All the fifteen year old could think of in that moment was that she surely couldn't go on with the loss – not this one.

"What is she doing?"

"Hold her down!"

"Madam Pomfr-"

"I said,  _hold her down!_ "

"Is she having a seizure? Oh Merlin, she's having a seizure!"

A sharp sting assaulted the right side of her face. It was so abrupt and the pain so fleeting that it was as if it hadn't happened.

"Don't  _slap_  her, you daft child!"

"I didn't know what else to do! I can't watch her like that!"

"Harry, maybe we should leave-"

"Yes, you  _should_  leave."

A cool palm rested on her forehead, and Hermione felt her muscles unclench and her eyes flutter in exhaustion. Her breath was coming out in rattles, and she felt like she wasn't in her own body. She couldn't feel much, if anything at all.

Would her chest ever stop burning?

When she next woke, she was alone. It looked to be night time as Hermione saw the black wall of sky outside, decorated with the weak glittering of stars as they fought to overcome the encompassing darkness. She turned her eyes away from the depressing sight, something that so very much represented her very own struggle at the time. Maybe if she didn't fight, she would save everyone the trouble – let the chips fall where they may; although she knew where they'd fall, or more precisely where hers would – into death.

A light flickered in the distance, and she tried to blink away the blurriness surrounding her vision. She tried to speak, but nothing came out but a raspy garble. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Of course letting nature take its course would be better than fighting if  _this_  was her version of it.

Things were going in and out of focus, and all of a sudden she felt a cool cloth on her face. Choking on her tears, she tried to swat away the feeling. Her arms didn't move like she wanted them to – instead, one fell off her stomach to lie beside her, and the other twisted to fall off the bed. The tears continued to fall, and suddenly great wrenching sobs echoed into the infirmary. At least, that's where she presumed she was – after all, what other place would house the nearly immobile?

Turning her head as quickly as she could, which was a snail's pace, Hermione closed her eyes as her cheek brushed the pillow. Breathing heavily, she realised her body must be sick of sleeping – if that was possible. Her skin tingled, and she could almost feel the blood moving sluggishly through her veins. A fiery trail, but a slowed one nonetheless. She groaned in suffering.

Her eyes opened, and she froze at the sight of her loss.

He was there. Why was he there?

Her tears stopped, and she looked at him with her glimmering brown eyes. He was laying unusually still, both arms beside him, and his hair as messy as always. She could see his chest rise and fall with his labored breath, and hoped that she wasn't just seeing things. Unwilling to let go of this illusion, Hermione made a decision. Gritting her teeth, albeit weakly, Hermione gave a groan of exertion as she lifted herself up on her hands. They shook with the effort, and she quickly twisted her body, giving just the right amount of push to move from the bed, and swing her feet around-

There was a smack as her bare bottom hit the floor, and she stifled the cry that threatened to resonate throughout the room. Crawling over to his bed slowly and pathetically, she rose on her knees, careful not to strain her broken leg.

Madam Pomfrey found her there in the morning, sobbing into Cedric's sheets and grasping at his hand desperately. She couldn't really remember what had happened after she was pulled from Cedric. Maybe a physical fight ensued, or maybe, surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey couldn't remove her from his side. Regardless – it was hours later that she realised the ache in her chest was gone as she sat on his bed. Despite being relieved, Hermione didn't want to think about why it had ached. She knew that wasn't normal, even after losing a loved one. That was something for later analysis. For now, she was just thankful. Thankful, thankful, thankful.

She stroked his hair, his face, his arms, his chest; anything that reminded her that he was there, and very much  _alive_. He seemed to be burnt in many places – his right shoulder for one, and his right thigh. His left elbow bore slightly lesser burns. What confounded Hermione the most, however, was the state of his left ear – it was as if it had been hacked at. The perpetrator must have missed several times, for it seemed to have only chips out of it. Despite its battered appearance, the nurse had reassured Hermione it was in perfect condition.

She brushed his bangs back from his face, and gazed at his closed eyes, the soft eyelashes just not long enough to brush his high cheekbones. She didn't know what was ahead of them, or what the next few days would entail. She didn't even know whether he would live, but as the thought nearly brought her to tears again, she vowed to do anything to keep him alive. On her back, playing with his hair absentmindedly while she gazed at the ceiling, Hermione thought of all the things she would have to face. Harry, Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic, the whole damn  _Wizarding_  world – it was pretty laughable, really, that all these things seemed so much more foreboding than meeting with Voldemort ever did. In a way, Hermione was grateful. Although, it did spur the question – if Voldemort wasn't her biggest problem, who, or what, was?

Curled up beside Cedric, his breath causing her hair to tickle her face, Hermione was lulled into sleep by the sound of his heartbeat.

Something was shaking her.

"Hermione,  _get up_."

Her eyes sprung open, and she sat bolt upright in her bed – or really, Cedric's bed. He was lying as still as before. She looked away quickly, saddened by his lifeless face and unmoving body, even though he had not passed on without her.

"What? What is it?" she said, and was surprised at the sound of her voice, normal and even.

"I think you have a lot of explaining to do." She looked up and saw a be-speckled boy with green eyes and spiky black hair.

"Harry," she sighed, smiling, moving as if to embrace him. She didn't expect him to reciprocate so readily, but found comfort in the bone-crushing hug.

"You can't just do that!" He broke the hug then, sitting beside her and cradling her face. Cedric's bed was becoming a party, Hermione noted with amusement. She grinned happily, trying to forget that Harry was trying to interrogate her. Maybe Dumbledore had put him up to it – but she didn't have the time or the energy to wonder about the headmaster any longer.

"You're so stupid! Do you realise what could have happened?"

He rested his bruised head on her shoulder. She felt like collapsing.

It wasn't his head that weighed her down, but the tone of his voice, and the implications of her actions. Just what had she risked by facing Voldemort? At least Harry had the protection of his blood, but she – well, Hermione had nothing, no advantage in their little duel. She hadn't thought of it that way, but then she realised that without the protection she needed, how had Harry and Ron reacted? They knew she was as vulnerable as could be… she pushed Harry back, horrified.

"I'm… so s-sorry." Hermione choked up, looking away from Harry to Cedric, watching the slow and slight rise and fall of his chest. She gave a sad, watery smile and squeezed his hand.

Harry sighed, like he had expected this.

"I get it. You're my best friend, Hermione – you always forget that I  _know_  you, and so I  _know_  why you did what you did… but sometimes I just wish you'd  _think_. But that doesn't even make sense because that's all you do!" He got up from the bed and began pacing. She followed him with her eyes, unshed tears just waiting to fall.

Should she tell him everything? Harry was in the dark, and surely he had a right to know. But whether it was worth the risk, was the question. After all, the more people knew, the greater possibility everyone would find out. She trusted Harry, yes, but people overheard things – especially in Hogwarts.

No. She couldn't. She knew, and Cedric knew. Dumbledore too, Hermione was sure. But that was all who could know – anyone else would be a liability.

_I'm sorry, Harry._

Did she only apologise these days?

Harry was saying something, and she wasn't quite sure what. He seemed to be gesturing madly, and his hair was even messier than before, sticking up oddly, almost looking like a porcupine. It was as if she were deaf; she could see his mouth moving, nearly feeling the reverberations of his deep voice – something which had changed this year – but his words were muted, his steps almost silent.

"-me, Hermione. You can tell me anything. I am always here if you need me. I've noticed you've taken to confiding in Cedric, and that's okay, really-"

A hand squeezed back.

Hermione spun around, very nearly toppling off the bed in her haste. Her hair whipped her face but she took no notice.

"Cedric… Cedric!" she exclaimed, shaking his hand which made him stir.

Suddenly his grip became vice-like, and Hermione heard her own intake of breath in surprise. It was a painful grip, and she desperately tried to free her hand.

"Cedric… you're hurting me." she whispered weakly, on the verge of crying. She felt Harry try and release her hand as well, but it remained firmly encased in Cedric's. A second later, his whole body was shaking, and Hermione glimpsed his eyes fling open before they slowly rolled into the back of his head. Her own eyes widened, and she screamed for the nurse.

"MADAM POMFREY!"

Her voice echoed off of the infirmary walls, and everything seemed to blur except for Cedric writhing on the bed. Madam Pomfrey obscured Hermione's vision as she pushed her aside. Harry began to lead her out of the Hospital Wing.

"He's seizing. Dobby!" The elf appeared. He looked at the hysterical Hermione and visibly winced. "Fetch me Healer Frevki from St. Mungo's, immediately."

"No! NO! Let me back in there! I can't leave him! HARRY!" Her protests were unheard it seemed, as she was dragged through the doors and into the corridor. She was released and stood there panting for several moments. The sound of Cedric's shouts from within the infirmary were painful, and Hermione so wished she had the courage to hex Harry again. She needed to help Cedric. Hermione could not stand there and do nothing… there was surely a way to help him, make him better. Voldemort had used a dark spell, no doubt. So she would have to use a dark spell to turn Cedric back to normal; and she knew just where to find one.

Hermione straightened up, took one look at her best friend, slapped him, and ran down the corridor. She knew where she needed to go to fix this, to fix  _him_. And no one was going to stop her.

"Hermione, wait!"

She ran on.

 

\---

 

Draco Malfoy was having an ordinary day. There wasn't anything particularly special about it, or the people involved. It was your average day at Hogwarts when you were a Slytherin.

 _Yesterday_ , however, Draco Malfoy had been served quite a treat in regard to entertainment. Granger had got herself in some trouble with the Dark Lord, polyjuiced herself to look like Potter, and admitted her love for the golden Hufflepuff all in one day. And to top that off, she and the badger were in the infirmary, quite nearly dying.

He'd had the best day, yesterday.

But now his day was just about to get better… possibly better than yesterday if he thought about this moment in hindsight.

He strutted into the library, because that's what Malfoys did – they strutted everywhere like they owned the place because the truth was that they did. Malfoys owned everything. At least, in theory. That's what Draco liked to think, anyway.

He was perusing the bookshelves for a text that would help him in the coming year. Granger always had a one-up on him every year, and he'd decided that with OWLs fast approaching, he better get a move on and beat the mudblood already.

"Speaking of the mudblood," Draco muttered to himself, peering around the bookshelf to see the girl frantically flipping through the pages of a black book. Her hair was frizzier than normal, if that were possible, and she seemed to be in a hospital gown that was a tad bit too see-through. Malfoy didn't mind so much – just because she was a mudblood didn't mean he couldn't admire her fully-developed body. He was a man, after all. Her eyes seemed red-rimmed and there were tear tracks down her face. Draco congratulated whoever made the insufferable goody-two-shoes Gryffindor cry. It was about time.

She stopped abruptly, staring at the pages like they were the wizarding plague. Thank Merlin Draco's descendents had avoided  _that_  particular debacle – nasty disease, it was.

 _Probably why the majority of wizarding society is so ugly these days,_  he thought, disgusted.

"What are you doing?"

"I couldn't let it go. Merlin, I tried, but I couldn't!"

Her sobs were loud and she forced herself to stop breathing.

"Granger!"

Her head snapped up and she hiccupped several times, her sobs now quiet shakes of the shoulders. She was staring at him strangely.

Draco stood there in shock as her eyes closed and she collapsed against the cushioned chair she was sitting on.

"Shit, shit, shit." he muttered under his breath, walking briskly to her. A girl fainting was one thing, but Granger fainting was a whole other story. True, he disliked the girl – but she was what kept him motivated, his retorts sharp and his grades even sharper – to leave her here would be his downfall.

At least, that's what Draco liked to think. Besides, why would he selflessly help a mudblood? There is no reason.

He clutched Granger's head, the bushy hair tickling his nose and making his intense feelings of dislike for her grow.

"Granger. Granger, wake up. Mudblood, bloody hell, wake up!"

It was all to no avail.

So he slapped her. At the time, it was a logical solution to a problem presented to him and something he'd dreamed of doing for many years. In hindsight, it was an irrational solution to a problem presented to him and something he'd dreamed of doing for many years.

She screamed at him, slapped at him, pushed at him, scratched at him – and she wondered why he called her mad?

"Granger, calm the bloody hell down!" he yelped, as she happened to pinch him at the same time.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, tears still streaming.

"Alright, alright!"

It was silent as they stared at each other.

"What do you have there?" Draco inquired. He squinted at the book to read its title, " _Deadly Solutions To Deadly Pro_ \- hey!"

Hermione snatched the book and held it to her chest.

"Go. Away."

"Granger, I have seen that book before," he carried on, despite the girl's quickly narrowing eyes, "and trust me, you don't want to delve into that stuff."

"Trust  _you?_ " She laughed mockingly. "You're the  _last_  person I would trust, Malfoy."

"Well good!" he shouted, "I  _am_  the last person you should trust." he stated bitterly, quietly this time. Draco knew what kind of person he was, and Granger didn't need to bloody well rub it in his face. She did it almost every day, but today was a little too much.

She stared at him suspiciously for a moment, waiting for him to continue.

"Look, all I'm saying is that I think I know where you are right now," Draco couldn't believe he was saying this. He hated Granger. Well, not hate – more an intense dislike. But still! It didn't mean he had to go all deep and meaningful on the mudblood. Did he want her to go crazy, though? Because it sure seemed she was going that way to him. He'd seen many others go down her path, and none of them had kept it together, even his own father. Draco's eyes darkened at the thought of his father. Granger didn't deserve that kind of treatment, or that mentality. "It's not a good place, alright, Granger? From first hand experience, it's somewhere you definitely don't want to be." She just kept on staring. What the hell was wrong with her?

"And why are you giving me advice?" she asked curiously. Her eyes were wide and her posture was tense.

"Because you're Granger, and Granger could never be dark." Draco said frankly, standing. He looked down at her for a moment before he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, he thought he might have heard her say thank you.

 _Yes, today was_ definitely _better than yesterday,_ he thought.

 

\---

 

"How are you feeling?" she asked tenderly, replacing the flowers on his bedside table and sitting on the side of his bed. He smiled at her sleepily and she squeezed his hand in response. She spent most of her time in the infirmary now, as she tried to avoid masses of students as much as possible. The stares were getting to her.

"Better than yesterday, for certain." His voice was husky, and Hermione couldn't help but shiver in delight at the quality.

They sat there for a while in silence. It was often like this in the morning. Hermione would scoff down breakfast and run up to the hospital wing just in time to see Cedric awaken, and they would sit quietly for the duration of the morning while Cedric dozed on and off.

She had been released from the infirmary a day after her library escapade, as she'd taken to calling it. The healer from St. Mungo's had given her a clean bill of health and had thankfully stabilized Cedric with the help of one of Professor Snape's potions. Healer Frevki was a Russian that had moved to England fifteen years ago, just before Harry was born. She had been concerned about Voldemort's growing power and implications to civilians as a result of it. Hermione couldn't help but smile goofily whenever she spoke to the healer, however, because her accent was still very prominent. She was eternally grateful, though, for the healing she and Cedric had received from the middle-aged woman.

Hermione looked to Cedric and smiled. He seemed to be getting better. The seizure had been a one off, something Madam Pomfrey had not been able to explain. It would remain a mystery as Hermione had no interest to figure out why it had happened. She had made an oath to herself to just accept some things – she'd spent too much time the past year researching and pondering issues that were unimportant in the long run.

Although Cedric was improving, the cursed burns on his right thigh were very severe and he was told he would have scars there permanently. He hadn't seemed fussed when he had found out, merely thankful to be alive. Hermione had insisted Madam Pomfrey heal as much of the burn as possible, but the witch had stated that it was simply impossible – they were cursed wounds, and the caster had been intent on killing Cedric; there was nothing the healer could have done but save his life. His face, suffering from the same burns, was not as bad. There was scarring, but it was extremely scarce and could only be seen at a certain angle and if in bright light. She often cradled the left side of his face, as Cedric had told her the skin was a lot more sensitive there, and her touch gave him comfort.

It was only a couple of days before Cedric could leave the infirmary – Madam Pomfrey had told her he could leave on the first of July, although he still had to take potions daily to fend off the lasting effects of the unknown green hex that he had been hit with. A couple of weeks of those over the summer, and then he would be nearly as good as new; only with some burns and an incomplete ear as a result of his sixth year.

"Have you heard anything from your parents?" Hermione asked, running her hands through his hair as she lay next to him while he ate lunch that same day. It was a daily occurrence, one Hermione enjoyed thoroughly. She felt guilty saying that these times in the hospital wing were the most relaxing of the year, but she couldn't deny the truth.

Cedric gulped down pumpkin juice from his goblet before setting it down on the table that his lunch sat on beside the bed.

"Dad sent a letter confirming my improving health and saying that unless I was 'gravely ill', he didn't have time to come to my bedside." Cedric said bitterly, playing with her hands. Hermione didn't know what the relationship was between Cedric and his father, but it was rather eclectic. Sometimes he would be a proud, loving father, and other times he would be distant and uncaring. It had Hermione wondering, but it wasn't her place to ask. After all, inquiring into Amos Diggory would only result in inquiries into herself, which she couldn't have. For now, she would just have to try and understand.

"Oh, Ced…"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly, "I'm more worried about mum," He frowned, "I haven't heard a peep from her since before the task."

Hermione frowned with him.

"I'm sure she's fine, she's probably on her way to Hogwarts now to surprise you. It takes a while to get through the security, after all – especially after the task." Hermione had a sinking feeling that all of that was a lie. Just what was Mrs Diggory up to? It was a little strange, and something Hermione knew was serious. She couldn't express her concerns to Cedric otherwise his health might get worse, which she definitely didn't want. No, it was up to her to find out what had happened to Cedric's mother. She'd give him an update when she could.

"I hope so." Cedric muttered, burying his head into her neck and tickling her with his hair.

The ringing of her laughter down the hallway adjacent to the hospital wing would be the last sounds of laughter amongst the two for a while.

 

\---

 

"I'm sorry."

"How is this possible? Are you sure? Did you find-"

"They found her body, Cedric."

Hermione grasped his hand firmly, not even thinking of letting go. Just when things were getting better, Voldemort had to go and drop this on their heads. She hated him. She hated that monster for what he had done to Cedric, but most of all what he had done to her. She knew his game – he was trying to take Cedric away from her, bit by bit. Her eyes flashed with her hate, and she gritted her teeth. She saw Cedric in the corner of her eye, and his expression made her anger dissipate. He looked completely and utterly lost. He was staring at Professor Dumbledore in disbelief, clenching his jaw in that familiar habit of his.

"My mother is dead." He said brokenly.

"Please know, Cedric, that I am deeply sorry."

The headmaster left them alone after that.

She was worried about him. They sat in silence, one not comforting but desperately sad. Silence was comfort. Silence was how Cedric was coping. But he wasn't coping well. Hermione saw him fight back tears, saw him struggle to sleep at night, and saw the several crumpled up attempts by the bed to ask his father about a funeral. Cedric was slowly coming apart at the seams, and Hermione knew that when he did, she would have to be there for him.

When he was released on the first, he told her he wanted to be alone. She frowned in concern, but complied. If he needed to be alone, she would let him be alone. When her grandmother had died, all Hermione had wanted to do was be alone. The need to let go had been unbearable, and it was something she had done in the confines of her own room.

So when Cedric sat down next to her in the library that evening, and decided to lie down on her lap, Hermione understood what had just happened. She saw his red eyes and his clammy cheeks, and she understood. The two of them remained in the library for the rest of the evening.

When it came to go back to their dorms, Hermione didn't question him when he led them not to Gryffindor tower, like he normally did first, but to the Hufflepuff dormitories. She understood when he asked her to lay next to him, and understood when he sobbed into her hair until he fell asleep during the early hours of the next day.

She went to her dormitory early that morning, promising to come back after lunch as she was packing to go home and had other matters to attend to like her best friends. She had kissed him, and left him to sleep away his grief for the day.

As she packed, Hermione wondered. The year had passed quickly – too quickly. Maybe it was a repercussion of using the Time Turner the year before, which made days longer. She was sure that wasn't it, though. The past year had had  _purpose_. She had done what had she needed to do with little collateral damage. But there were so many questions that still needed answering, and she presumed that they would be answered over the summer. Or, at least, she hoped they would be. Why did Dumbledore think letting Cedric die was the best idea? If Voldemort had been a Death Seer like she was, what did that mean? And why had the evil monster cursed Cedric so?

She and Cedric had finally sorted things out, but it wasn't conventional. It wasn't  _normal_ , really. She didn't particularly care for normal, but she wondered how it would affect them in the future.

_Knock, knock._

Hermione's head snapped to the door. She didn't want to see anyone right now, but at the thought that it might be Cedric, she relented to some company.

"Come in." Her voice shook, and she cleared it hastily.

"Harry," she said, surprised. Her best friend had entered holding a bag of something, she did not know. He smiled at her tiredly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to give you this." He held up the bag, and when it  _clink_ ed, Hermione realised it was the Triwizard winnings.

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"Just hear me out, alright?" He walked over to her and placed the bag in her hands. "You were there, you fought him. You deserve this purely for that single reason – but that's not the only thing." She went to protest, but he stopped her, "No, Hermione; you saved Cedric's life, something I would never have been able to do. You've helped him and me all year. You've kept everything in balance. You deserve so much more than these winnings, but it's all I can give you. So please, take it. It's the only way I'll feel just  _slightly_  less guilty for not helping  _you_."

"Harry, I can't-"

"Merlin, Hermione! Do something for yourself for once!"

She paused, looking at the bag and then at her best friend. He smiled a smile she could not resist, and she hugged him tightly.

When she let go, she frowned at Harry.

"But… when did you get these? I didn't hear anything of the Minister coming to Hogwarts." Hermione asked. Although she had avoided her peers, she was still up to date on all national affairs, she was certain.

"It was when you were first in the hospital wing. I was in there, too. I wish you had witnessed the whole thing, actually." Harry added. His expression seemed thoughtful.

"What happened?" she asked, placing the winnings in her trunk and snapping it shut. She placed her usual locking charms on it that she did every year. When they were all completed, she nodded in satisfaction and put away her wand in her jacket pocket, turning back to Harry.

"Fudge came and started hassling Dumbledore about Voldemort's return-" At Hermione's flabbergasted look, he explained, "I believe you, don't worry. I felt the whole thing, remember? Anyway, Fudge got all flustered and just dropped the winnings in my hand. Seems that although you were there, it still counts as a Harry Potter win because they thought Cedric was dead."

Hermione frowned at that. Surely by that time Madam Pomfrey and Healer Frevki had revived Cedric and were working on healing him? How long had he been thought dead?

Harry continued on, engrossed now, "Sirius came, and then Snape showed up! Oh, by the way, Mad-Eye wasn't really Mad-Eye – he was Barty Crouch's son, a Death Eater. The one everyone thought was dead. He's as good as dead now, though – Dementor's Kiss and all that. But back to Snape; the git is a Death Eater! Apparently he's a spy for Dumbledore. It explains so much, don't you think?"

Hermione stared at Harry.

"Harry!" she whined, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

He laughed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I figured you had… other things on your mind." His expression turned serious and Hermione knew exactly what he was talking about.

The two of them walked down to the Great Hall together for lunch, and Harry helped her forget all about the stares and the whispers. She should have been used to them by now, anyway – they'd been following her all year, for Merlin's sake.

They entered the room and a sudden quiet came over it. Hermione tried to look everywhere but at her peers, and found a shock of red hair that was wholly comforting.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed through a mouthful of food. And the only reason she could understand him was because she was well-trained in Ron-speak.

"Ron, do you even have table manners?" Hermione asked, eyebrow raised, as she sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Hermione, do you even have a sense of humour?" Ron mocked back, making her scowl. Harry laughed at the two of them and began eating.

Sitting through conversations about Snape's loyalty, what Sirius said to them, Dumbledore, and Snape's loyalty; Hermione couldn't help but feel a little out of place. She loved her best friends, she did, but there was a sense that she had done some growing up in that graveyard, and it was without the two of them. Sighing, she pushed her food away.

"I'm just going to go to the library. Don't wait up for me." Hermione announced, lifting herself from the bench and making her way out of the Great Hall.

"Why does she say that?" she heard Ron say behind her, "She knows we always wait up for her, anyway."

Hermione looked around the Entrance Hall, thankful that no one was there to see her slip into the corridor that led to the Hufflepuff dormitories. She reached the portrait, spoke the password with little insult from the fruit, and entered. Passing the fire, she quickly made her way to the stairs to the boys' dormitories, and walked into Cedric's room. She saw him, sprawled and asleep on his bed. His hair was even messier than usual, and he was shirtless. His face, though, was what shocked her so entirely. It was content, pleasant – happy. In his sleep, Cedric had escaped the reality of his situation. He was at ease.

She sat down next to him and placed her hand in his hair. She massaged his scalp for a while, thinking. Would this year change Cedric as a person? More specifically, would his mother's death change him? She knew what it was like to lose a close loved one, but she had vowed that she wouldn't change when her grandmother died. She'd kept that vow to this day. But Cedric didn't have any reason not to change. He could, so very easily. It scared her. Cedric had a temper, one he didn't express often – but when he did, he was a force to be reckoned with. Could his tempers become his usual attitude? A never-ending bad mood?

She felt a calloused hand on her wrist and looked down. Cedric's sleepy eyes looked back up at her, and she relaxed her, what she now realised were tense muscles.

"Hey." She whispered, kicking off her shoes, taking off her jacket, and carefully slipping underneath the covers with him. He was behind her, arms around her, and head in her neck. She was lying there for a few hours as he slept, trying to think away the problems that had yet to be solved. After a while, his breath silently brushing her pulse point, she was lulled to sleep with him.

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she looked to the clock on Cedric's bedside table.

"Merlin!"

She rolled over, pushing at Cedric to wake up.

"What is it?" he asked in post-wake up grogginess.

"The end of year feast is about to start! Get UP!" She pushed at him once more before literally hopping out of bed and throwing on her jacket and shoving on her shoes. She looked down at herself and groaned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, clothes." she said wistfully as she pulled out her wand. Speaking the incantation, they transfigured into standard Gryffindor uniform and robes, something which was undoubtedly going to ruin her actual clothes. She turned around, ready to leave, and saw Cedric still in bed.

"Ced-"

"I'm not going."

"What?" she said after a pause.

"I'm not going." He repeated, and his tone was so serious that it almost made Hermione run off to fetch the Headmaster, despite his meddling ways.

"Ced, you have to go. I'm not letting you sleep  _all_ day." She said jokingly, pulling at the covers. He snatched her wrist, holding it tightly.

"I don't  _want_  to go." His eyes bored into hers, and she felt a little uneasy.

She looked at him forlornly. What could she do when he was like this?

" _Please_  come, Cedric. I'll do anything. Really. I'll- … I'll even sit at the Hufflepuff table, even though it's against the rules and everything, but I just really-"

"You'll break the rules?" his face looked to be on the verge of laughter, and Hermione was so surprised she said nothing. Her wrist was still firmly in his grasp. "Well, I have to see this." He let go of her wrist suddenly, and she rubbed at it incessantly. He was being a little sharp, maybe a little condescending, but that could just be her taking it the wrong way. It was best to just let it fly over her head. He was going to the feast, after all.

He made up for it by grabbing her hand on the way out of the dormitory, anyway.

The feast was an entirely different affair than all the previous years at Hogwarts. The Great Hall, buzzing as always with the excitement of the end of the school year, seemed to double in noise due to the happenings in the past week. She and Cedric walked in quietly, still holding hands. He led her to the Hufflepuff table, with no expression on his face – not even a smirk.

Their hands sat, entwined, on the Hufflepuff table, talking to no one. It seemed almost everyone was staring at them, but when Hermione noticed, their gazes would look elsewhere. She let him do what he wanted throughout the feast. He played with her hair, her hands, her robes. He touched her back, her neck, her cheek, her arm, and at one point even her upper thigh which had been a rather large shock. She didn't care, though; anything to distract him from his peers, and from his mother. Hermione looked over to Harry and Ron occasionally, but they seemed perfectly at ease, only sending the occasional questioning glance. Even Ron was well-behaved, which was probably the first time Hermione had seen him that way when she was around a boy. Well, more like a man in Cedric's case.

The feast ended late, like normal every year, and she and Cedric stayed behind in the Entrance Hall. It would do no good for people to see her go to his room, or even his common room.

They spent roughly two hours in an unused broom closet.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Cedric and herself were standing in the Entrance Hall with their trunks and respective pets. They weren't talking as other students hustled and bustled around them, and they were both content that way. When it came time to go to the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade station, they both picked up their belongings and entered the same carriage. Harry and Ron had signaled to her to join them, but she could not leave Cedric, not when he was like this – not talking and emotionless.

They sat in the carriage in silence.

Boarding the train was done in a similar manner, and they found a compartment at the back of the Hogwarts Express that seemed to be ignored by the majority of the Hogwarts population. They sat next to each other, observing the countryside flying by them as the train gained speed. Cedric held her hand, and that was enough. She rested her head on his shoulder, and that is how they spent the ride to King's Cross. Sometimes one of them would read, sometimes one of them would eat, but mostly they just sat. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had spent so much time in silence consecutively. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When they arrived at King's Cross, they were greeted with the sounds of relieved students and happy parents. Hermione saw Cedric clench his jaw out of the corner of her eye, and knew if she didn't do something, he would breakdown at home with no one to comfort him. She couldn't rely on his father to do the job. She squeezed his hand and led him out onto the platform, their trunks following close behind them.

The couple stood in the middle of platform nine and three quarters, waiting. At the first sight of Amos Diggory, Hermione turned to Cedric.

She hugged him tightly, almost bone-crushing, "I'm so sorry."

She felt his hot tears fall down her neck and held him more tightly. He didn't let go for a couple of moments until he pulled back and kissed her intensely. It was almost bruising with its force, and Hermione knew he just needed to vent his grief, and this was the only way he knew how.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when he pulled away, and she kissed him again. "I'm so sorry."

"Cedric!"

His father's yell over the crowd of students and parents caused Cedric to hold her more tightly.

"Please," he whispered desperately, "please let me stay with you."

Hermione looked up at him. She saw a man who had just lost his mother, and a boy who needed to be taken care of. It was when she realised this later that she couldn't understand how she had done what she did.

"I can't, Cedric." She said, frowning. "I would love to, but I can't. I'm sorry."

Cedric clenched his jaw and released her from his embrace. He pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and shoved it into her hands. He'd picked up his trunk and owl, and had walked off through the busy crowd toward his father before she could even realise what he'd written.

_17 Ottery Rd, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, U.K._

_Write me._

In a daze, Hermione carried her belongings through the wall to the actual King's Cross station. She looked around, trying to find her parents, the note still in her hand.

"Hermione!" Her mother ran up to her, and hugged her until Hermione thought she wouldn't be able to breathe. "We've missed you so much, dear!"

Her father came into view.

"Welcome home, kiddo."

When Hermione did nothing but stare at them, her mother frowned.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

The question snapped the fourth year soon to be fifth year out of her daze, and she stashed the note into her jacket pocket.

"Nothing, nothing!" she exclaimed as she hugged them both. Her dad took her trunk and Crookshanks purred in her arms as they set off toward the car.

"So, one word to describe the past year?" her father quizzed, the same question he asked every year, and she gave the same answer. Except this year, her answer changed.

"Different."

"Well, that's a new one."

As her parents participated in idle chatter about their past year, Hermione reached into her jacket pocket for the note.

_Write me._

Fastening her seatbelt, Hermione knew she would do more than write.

She would love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, folks! I'll put up the first chapter of the sequel, which I again wrote ages ago... and hopefully I will continue!


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